
Qass. 
Book 



"P R H 77 1 
_ 



POEMS 



BY 



WILLIAM HERSEE, 



THIRD EDITION 



TO WHICH ARE ADDED 



A TRIBUTE OF GRATITUDE 



TO THE MEMORY OF 



THE LATE WILLIAM HAYLEY, ESQ. 



AND 



SEVERAL OTHER PIECES. 




There is a living spirit in the Lyre! 



Montgomery, 






LONDON: 

PRINTED FOR T. CADELL IN THE STRAND. 



1822. 



H 



H 3 V 



TO 

Mrs. HIJSKISSON 

THIS VOLUME 
IS MOST RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED. 



YEARS have gone by, with all their joys and ills, 
Since first, in Eartham's sweet romantic vale, 

Charm'd by the echoes of his native hills 
A Child of Nature told his simple tale. 

Thou wert the first Protectress of his lays, — 
And he remembers all thy kindness well 

But, lest he should offend by grateful praise, 
He feels in silence what he must not tell. 

Yet once again — 'tis Gratitude's demand — 

His wild-wood flow'rets wilt thou deign to see? 

With duteous feelings, but with trembling hand, 
O Lady! he devotes the wreath to thee. 



PREFACE. 



IT may be true that my compositions are too 
unimportant to need a formal introduction : but 
it will be universally admitted that, to render the 
building complete, whether it be a mansion or a 
cottage, an entrance door is indispensable; and 
in this light I consider the nature of a Preface. 

I have produced a mere simple shed, where 
the wanderer may condescend to retire from the 
splendid feast in the palace of genius. The repast 
may be humble, but I will venture to avow that 
it has nothing offensive to virtue or morality. It 
contains no mental poison; and I devoutly wish 
as much could be truly said of every work in the 
present day. 1 have reason to expect that my 
name may pass down the stream of Time with- 
out being recorded in the literary annals of my 
country; but I would much rather sink for ever 
in the deep waters of oblivion than raise up a 
gloomy Temple of Fame on the base of Infidelity ! 



Vlll PREFACE. 

I deem it right to explain the motives which 
have led to my present appearance before the 
public; and if I am chargeable with egotism I 
can only plead the impossibility of avoiding it. 

About thirteen years ago, I published a very 
small volume which introduced me to the notice 
of the late amiable Mr. Hayley, who resided in 
the neighbourhood of my native village. From 
that period to the day of his death I was honored 
with the friendship of that excellent man, whose 
affectionate zeal for my welfare I shall never for- 
get. His solicitude for my prosperity in Life, and 
for my domestic comfort, had all the tenderness 
of parental regard. — But, removed by the decree 
of Providence, he has left me to execute, without 
the advantage of his superior aid, a task which he 
had kindly offered to perform with his own hand. 
He was to have written the Preface upon which 
I am at this moment engaged, and which, in 
that case, would have had the benefit of his own 
elegant critical remarks. The remembrance of 
this increases in my mind the consciousness of 
my own incapacity. 



PREFACE. IX 

The very small volume, to which I have 
alluded, having been sold off, a second impression 
was speedily published with extensive additions, 
under the guidance of my venerable friend. 
Confiding in the correctness of his judgment, I felt 
somewhat secure against the severity of criticism; 
and I was not disappointed. My adventure 
was favorably noticed by several periodical 
works of the time ; and I was encouraged by 
my generous adviser to print a very hasty com- 
position on The Fall of Badqjoz, which was 
well received, both by my friends at home and 
by the noble Commander while he was in Spain. 
This was followed by another martial attempt, 
(even more hastily composed than the former) on 
The Battle of Fittoria, which was also favor- 
ably received; and they are now re-published, in 
their original forms, preceded by their respective 
dedications. 

For many months before his departure from 
the scenes of earth, my lamented friend had ad- 
vised me to collect my Poems and re-print them 
in a single volume, with the addition of some new 



X PREFACE., 

productions: how little did either of us anticipate 
the melancholy fact that one of these would be 
upon the subject of his own death ! — I gave him 
a promise that I would follow his advice; and I 
now perform the sacred engagement. 

Among other compositions, besides the Tribute 
of Gratitude, is one of considerable length which 
I have called The Tomh of Love. The interesting 
ground-work of this romantic tale will be found 
in a very pleasing "Historical Account of the 
Island of Madeira" published by Mr. Hopkins 
in 1819. 

Having stated all that appears necessary, (per- 
haps more than the occasion requires,) I submit 
my volume to the judgment of the Public; and 
I will candidly acknowledge that I feel some 

anxiety for its fate. 

W. H. 



CONTENTS. 



Page 

A Tribute of Gratitude » • • • * 

Description of the Turret , 7 

The Turret : written on my return from a visit to that delightful 

retirement ........ 9 

Stanzas written in Mr. Hayley's Garden at Felpham 12 

Sonnet on Mr. Hayley's Recovery from severe Illness 14 

Ode to Friendship 15 

Fraternal Affection 20 

The Sorrows of Claremont 25 

The Poet and Experience 27 

A Father's Feelings on the Death of his Child 31 

Thoughts on Mortality . • . . . 34 

Stanzas on Charity 37 

Ode to the Right Honorable W. Huskisson, M. P. on his Appoint- 

ment as Surveyor General of His Majesty's Woods and Forests 39 

A Tribute of Love 42 

Departed Years . • 45 

Stanzas written under depression of mind, .„ ..... . 4$ 

The Distressed Mother 50 

Ode to Sensibility , . 53 

— to Connubial Love 55 

Epitaph on an Infant 57 



Xll CONTENTS. 

Lines to a young Friend on his having expressed to the Author a 

dislike of his present Station in Life 58 

Sonnet to Mr. John Beale, on receiving from him a Copy of his 

first Publication 60 

Sonnet on the Birth of my seventh Child 61 

A Friend 62 

Hymn on my own Birth Day 64 

God exalteth by his poiv'r 65 

God in thee I put my trust 66 

God is our hope and strength 67 

Religious Liberty 69 

Stanzas to Silence 71 

The Child of Misfortune ............ 74 

Ode on the Birth of a first Child. ...... 79 

On the Marriage of a Friend 82 

Sonnet to Mrs, #***■**.•.... 84 

Ode written by Moonlight in the City of Chichester 85 

On hearing the Organ and Choir in Chichester Cathedral 87 

Sunset 88 

The Arun's Side 91 

On the Love of Nature 94 

Lines written on the Platform at Portsmouth 98 

The Village Schoolmistress 102 

Recollections -on a Visit to^the- Place of my Nativity • 107 

The Parent: a fragment 113 

The Harvest Storm .....*. ..;;.......' 116 

Winter: a rustic sketch 120 

Tribute of Affection 124 



CONTENTS. Xlll 

The Lovers, of the Green i a Ballad . .. 126 

Lines to the beautiful. Infant Louisa 132 

A Cottage Picture, drawn from Life 134 

Early Affection: . a simple tale of rural Life 147 

My Native Hill. . .. 159 

The Adieu 162 

Extemporary Stanzas written in Chingford Church Yard 167 

To Miss M. A. Garman... 170 

The Poet's Invitation to a Friend 172 

Edwin and Ellen: a Ballad 174 

Fraternal Remembrance , 179 

Sonnet to. Gratitude 181 

The Young Lover to his Heart ^ 182 

Ballad: Sweet bird that in the lonely thorn 184 

Mary's Complaint: an elegiac Ballad -. 187 

Elegy on the Death of a Goldfinch 189 

The Parting 192 

Ode to the .Mpon 194 

To a Young Lady on St. Valentine's Day 200 

Epitaph. on a very old, Cat ... 204 

Epitaph on an old Horse 205 

Diamond's Grave, a pastoral Elegy 207 

The first Rosebud 210 

Reflections on receiving a Picture bequeathed to me by Mr. Hayley, 

as a memorial of his Friendship 212 

Sonnet to Mr. Bloomfield 214 

To a Wedding Ring intended for a young Friend of the Author 215 

Epitaph orfrMQUiam Banks 216 



XIV CONTENTS. 

Epitaph on a certain Woman ........... 217 

on a certain Man . » 219 

Sonnet to Benevolence 221 

Stanzas to a Lady on a Visit in Yorkshire • . • . • 222 

The Slighted Lover : a Ballad 225 

Youthful Friendship 228 

Sonnet to two Young Ladies, on their taking a Boarding School at 

Henfield 230 

to Miss Brown the Young Paintress 231 

to my Eldest Daughter, on her attaining her fifteenth year 232 

Song: When pining cares oppress the mind 233 

Hide not thy face, Maria dear 235 

Ah me ! how hapless is the maid 237 

Whene'er I see Maria's face . 239 

On him I love, ye sacred pow'rs 241 

My dearest Anna, must we part 243 

Young Anna was the sweetest lass 245 

I met my friend William one sweet dewy morning 247 

The Tomb of Love: a Ballad, founded on the discovery of Madeira 251 

The Fall of Badajoz 279 

Notes 299 

The Battle of Vittoria 313 

Notes 329 



TRIBUTE OF GRATITUDE 



TO THE MEMORY OF 



THE LATE W. HAYLEY, ESQ. 



TO 



THE RIGHT HONORABLE 



THE EARL OF EGREMONT, 



WHO WELL KNEW 



THE TALENTS AND THE VIRTUES 



OF 



THE DEPARTED POET, 



THIS GRATEFUL OFFERING 



IS MOST RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED, 



BY 



HIS LORDSHIP S VERY OBEDIENT HUMBLE SERVANT 



W. HERSEE. 



TRIBUTE OF GRATITUDE. 



— O the heavy change, now thou art gone, 
Now thou art gone, and never must return ! 

Milton. 



FAREWELL, thou dear departed friend ! Farewell 

To all the happy hours I've pass'd with thee 

On earth ! O may we meet again in joy 

Where pain and parting are alike unknown ! 

And art thou gone to reap thy rich reward? 

A golden crown prepared for thee in heav'n ! 

Then why should I repine when thou art blest? 

When all thy mortal agonies are o'er, 

When thou hast pass'd the dark and shadowy vale, 

And reach'd the fountain of Eternal Life ! 

O cease, my soul ! thy bitter anguish cease, 

And learn to kiss the rod,, 

B 



•2 A TRIBUTE OF GRATITUDE. 

Hard is the task 
To him who loses, by the hand of Death, 
The truest friend that Friendship ever knew ; 
Yet, humbled by the sorrows of the heart, 
I bow submissive to immortal pow'r, 
And ask forgiveness of the living God. 

Look down, pure spirit ! from thy throne of light, 
Give thy mild influence to my wounded mind ; 
And smile on me, as I have seen thee smile, 
While faithful Gratitude shall speak of thee. 

Dear is remembrance of departed days — 
Days that have warm'd the overflowing heart 
With all the blessings of benevolence ! 
From that pure source of intellectual joy 
The sweetest stream of consolation flows, 
To cool the fever'd frame of pale distress — 
To heal the mental wounds of humankind — 
When the dread King of Terrors strikes the blow 
That severs friend from friend. To that pure source, 
Retracing years, the happiest I have known, 
And scenes I never never can forget, 
O pensive Memory ! by thy wond'rous pow'r 



A TRIBUTE OF GRATITUDE, 3 

Can'st thou transport me, and refresh my thoughts. 

But, as I meditate on things long past, 

And think and think on the departed one, — 

A thousand recollections crowd my mind, 

With all their images of joy or grief, 

That rush at once thro' ev'ry trembling nerve, 

And overpow'r the calmness of my soul ! 

So does the torrent, with resistless force, 

Destroy and overwhelm the opening bud 

That needed only the refreshing show'r. 

Thou lovely village that o'erlook'st the sea ! 
Felpham I no longer can thy beauties charm 
The eyes that lately gazed on thee with joy ! 
Thy friend reposes in the silent dust ! 
The Bard to whom remembrance made thee dear. 
Who from his turret view'd thy peaceful cots, 
And oft exulted o'er thy blooming fields 
While tears and smiles were mingled on his face — 
Has sought another and a better home. 
To thee, " the nest for age," his hermitage 
Belov'd, he bids farewell — farewell for ever! 
But in the realms of everlasting bliss, 
Where now his spirit sits amid the throng 

b 2 



4 A TRIBUTE OF GRATITUDE. 

Of clustering angels, upon golden harps 
Tuning the raptured songs of holy love — 
If in that clime th' exalted soul can think 
Of earthly things, and of its earthly joys, 
Still will he think of thee his fav'rite spot I 

Ye suff 'ring poor ! your benefactor rests 
From all his labours, and no more will he 
With tender sympathy impart his aid, 
Or shed the tears of pity for distress. 

The aged widow and the orphan child, 
Whose tale of sorrow ne'er was heard in vain, 
Have lost a friend and father. One there is,- 
An orphan boy— whose infancy and youth 
Were watch'd by him with all a parent's care, 
And taught the paths of virtue and of truth. 
Oft has he wept o'er that poor orphan boy; 
Oft would he guide him to his father's grave, 
Tell him to emulate the honest fame— 
The humble piety — the faithful zeal — 
And all the various virtues of his sire ; 
Then offer up a pray'r to listening heav'n 
That he, thus cherish'd in his heart, might live 



A TRIBUTE OF GRATITUDE. 

Thro' prosp'rous years, a blessing to himself. 
Spirit! invisible to human eyes, 
Yet ever present to my mental sight ! — 
Perhaps thou hover'st o'er me at this hour ; 
Perhaps thou know'st the movements of my soul 
As silently I meditate on thee ! 
Oh ! if thou dost, accept my sacred pledge 
And bear it with thee to celestial worlds : 
While I have life, and pow'r to speak or feel ; 
While even thy blessed image shall remain 
Impress'd upon the tablet of my heart ; 
Whate'er the will of Providence may give 
To me or mine— thy cherish'd orphan boy, 
For thy, Iov'd sake, shall share my daily bread, 
And all the comforts of paternal care. 

cheer us on the road of Human Life, 

And lead our thoughts to heaven ! — Spirit of light ! 

1 feel thy presence and I see thee smile ! 

The world can chill the feelings of the heart ; 
And so imperfect are all human views, 
The richest gifts of ever-bounteous heav'n 
Possess'd by mortals, are possess'd in vain. 
Ungrateful man is heedless of his wealth ; 



6 A TRIBUTE OF GRATITUDE. 

Nor ever learns to estimate the prize 

Till time and death have swept the prize away. 

O Hayley ! tho' I lov'd thy very name, 

And thought thy virtues were by none surpass'd, 

Yet never have I truly known thy worth, 

'Till since th' eternal gates received thy soul 

And closed all earthly intercourse with thee ! 

Thy brilliant converse and thy sage advice — 

The glowing eloquence thy language spoke — 

The sweet communications of thy pen — 

The manly tenderness and anxious zeal 

That made the Patron's a parental heart — 

Are gone for ever — are for ever lost ! 

The noisy world, with all its pomp and pow'r, 

To me can give no recompense for thee: 

But He alone who gave can take away, 

And He is merciful to those who bend 

Beneath affliction in the vale of tears. 

Father of Heav'n ! be merciful to him 

Who meekly bows in grief before Thy throne, 

And asks Thy blessing with a feeble voice. 



DESCRIPTION OF THE TURRET. 



THE Author feels much interest in giving a brief account of 
this elegant little Villa, the property and residence of the late 
Mr. Hayley, in the village of Felpham, adjoining Bognor, in Sussex. 
It was built by him in 1797. The spot seems intended by Nature 
to afford, by its blended charms of rural and marine scenery, one of 
the most healthy and peaceful situations for those who can appreciate 
her beauties, and is peculiarly adapted for a literary mind desirous 
of retirement. 

The house, which stands on a little elevation, is approached by 
a small lawn at the front, with pleasure and kitchen gardens, and a 
rich paddock adjoining. The snowy whiteness of a pretty cottage, 
(the residence of the gardener,) at the entrance gate, is surpassed 
by that of the Villa itself, whose unadorned simplicity, and the 
modesty with which it recedes from public view, serve to render it 
the more attractive to the visitor. 

The following passage, from Mr. Hayley's very interesting 
work, " The Life of Ronmey, " will shew the delight with which he 
planned and built this favorite abode ; and the spirit of its language 
must create in the readers mind a sensation of pensive pleasure : it 
gives a miniature view of the tenderness of heart for which the 
departed Poet was distinguished. 

"The trio of Artists* arrived at Eartham" (then Mr. Hayley's 
residence,) '* on the 13th. of April, and, after a day of repose, 
proceeded to the sea-coast, where they all took a lively interest in 
laying the foundation of a very small marine villa in the hamlet of 
Felpham. Its proprietor vainly hoped that it might conduce, for 
many years, to the health and social enjoyments of the party, whose 

* Mr. Romney, the Architect, and Mr. Hayley's Son. 



8 DESCRIPTION OF THE TURRET. 



kind hearts gave utterance to the most fervent good wishes on its 
commencement How merciful to man is that dispensation of 
Heaven which allows him not to see far into futurity ! 

Our architectural ceremony was a cheerful scene of social 
delight, from the hope that all who shared in it, and particularly the 
two youngest, might recollect and revisit the spot with pleasure 
through a length of time to come; but what anguish of heart must 
have seized the joyous group, engaged in founding this favorite little 
structure, had any prescience informed them that all the three Artists, 
taking so kind an interest in the fabric, would be sunk in the grave 
within the brief period of six years from its foundation! I am now 
sitting alone in the dwelling which their kindness has endeared, and 
which their ingenuity has adorned ; and I feel a tender gratification, 
in employing the uncertain remnant of my days on such literary 
works as may faithfully commemorate the talents and the virtues of 
those who still speak to me in their works, and here daily remind me 
both of their genius and their affection. " 

The peculiar attachment of Mr. Hayley to the place of his 
retirement is recorded in a beautiful Poem, which has never been 
published, although a few copies have been printed and circulated 
among his private friends. It is not easy to withstand the temptation 
of extracting the following Lines, so tenderly do they describe his 
affectionate feelings . 

Hail Felpham! hail! in youth my favorite scene! 

First in ray heart of villages marine ! 

To me thy waves confirmed my truest wealth, 

My only parent's renovated health, 

Whose love maternal, and whose sweet discourse, 

Gave to my feelings all their cordial force; 

Hence mindful how her tender spirit blest 

Thy salutary air and balmy rest ; 

Thee, as profuse of recollections sweet, 

Fit for a pensive veteran's calm retreat, 

I chose, as provident for sure decay, 

A nest for age in Life's declining day ! 



THE TURRET. 



WRITTEN IN 1809, ON MY RETURN FROM A VISIT TO THAT 
DELIGHTFUL RETIREMENT. 



OF rural Felpham's little rising tow'r, 

Come, sweet remembrance of my happiest day ! 

Cling round my heart, and aid the grateful pow'r 
That, throbbing there, would pour the artless lay ! 

Near the brown beach, with shells and pebbles spread, 
Close where the village forms the shapeless street, 

The snowy Turret rears its glitt'ring head 
Above my Patron's beautiful retreat ! 



10 THE TURRET. 

The seat of solitude and sweet repose, 
The lovely mansion stands secure below; 

Where, true to Nature, many a flow'ret blows, 
And various shrubs the shady bow'rs bestow. 

The row of ancient elms, with ivy bound, 

Spreads shelt'ring o'er the silent " walk of love," 

Where to dear converse no intruder's found, 
Save the soft whisper of the leaves above* 

Enchanting scene of innocence and peace ! 

Abode of learning, piety, and joy! 
My love for thee shall never never cease— 

'Till death my earthly feelings shall destroy ! 

O how delightful was the sunny morn 
When first I saw thee rising to my view ! 

When first I saw the little plain adorn 

Thy spreading base, where gentle breezes blew ! 

There cordial friendship charm'd my glowing heart; 

There on the seat of pleasure I reclin'd ; 
For Hayley bade the heavy cloud depart 

Of deep dejection from my care-worn mind ! 



THE TURRET. 11 

Benevolence, sweet pow'r ! with cheering smile 
Beam'd in his looks, that brighten'd as they blessYl; 

And pleas'd he saw its force my care beguile, 
When he the feelings of his soul expressed. 

Oh ! he would ev'ry grief of mine deplore ; 

He banish'd from me ev'ry gloomy dread; 
From my sad breast the thorn of sorrow tore, 

And my new path with blooming roses spread. 



STANZAS 



WRITTEN IN MR. HAYLEy's GARDEN AT FELPHAM, ON THE 
2ND. SEPTEMBER, 1820 J WHILE MR. HAYLEY, AT THE 
AGE OF SEVENTY FIVE, WAS SUFFERING UNDER SEVERE 
ILLNESS. 



O HERE was the scene of delight 

When first on this seat I reclin'd ! 
Ev'ry face was unclouded and bright, 
And pleasure was free as the wind; 
But now my enjoyment is mingled with pain, 
For here will gay Pleasure ne'er visit again. 

My feelings no language can speak; 

My hopes are o'ershadow'd by fears ; 
And I in this solitude seek 

A lonely relief from my tears : — 
Thou dear silent bow'r, in whose shade I complain, 
Thy Master can never enjoy thee again ! 



STANZAS. 13 

Did I say the dear Bard can repine? 
That his spirit can yield to decay? 
No — the sunbeams of Piety shine, 
And darkness is banish'd away, 
A Christian can always his calmness retain ; 
My friend lives to prove it again and again. 

Then here, lovely bow'r ! on thy sod 

Shall thankfulness truly be giv'n, 
For him who has favor with God, 
And laid up a treasure in heav'n. 
Poor humble Mortality ! thine is the pain, 
But the soul that looks upward rejoices again ! 



SONNET 

ON THE RECOVERY OF W. HAYLEY, ESQ. FROM SEVERE 
ILLNESS, 30TH AUGUST, 1819. 



O COULD a mortal in celestial tone 

Speak the pure language of the host above ! 

Then would I sing of gratitude and love 
To Him who sitteth on th' eternal throne I 
Seraphic harmony with hallow'd fire 

Would touch the trembling pulses of my frame ; 

And oh ! to magnify the Saviour's name 
My soul would animate the sacred lyre : 
But now, o'erjoyed, my feelings hardly dare 

Aspire to offer up my feeble voice; 

And 1 can only silently rejoice 
That God hath heard and answered to my pray'r. 
To my best friend reviving health is giv'n; — 
How can I speak my thankfulness to heav'n ! 



ODE TO FRIENDSHIP. 



WRITTEN IN 1811, AND INSCRIBED TO W. HAYLEY, ESQ. 



O THOU that thro' the wav'ring soul of man 

Pour'st a warm stream of intellectual flame f 
Thy po\Vr celestial with the world began, 

And infant Nature link'd with thee became. 
Thine is the earliest throb that heaves the breast 
With gentle Feeling's heav'nly fire imprest, 
Ere worldly guile ensnares the gen'rous heart, 
Or Disappointment wields her mystic dart ! 



16 ODE TO FRIENDSHIP. 



II. 



And if the chilling frown of coldness reigns 

Around the scene where artless childhood plays, 
In reason form'd, the op'ning mind disdains 

To bear the harsh rebuke, the scornful gaze, — 
But longs to see the face that beams with joy, 
When trifling sports delight the prattling boy : 
Then can the little heart on kindness rest, 
And friendship's rapture charms the infant breast I 



III. 



In Life's mysterious road, that thro' the vale 

Of dark uncertainty conveys the mind, 
Our highest pleasures are but light and frail! 

Yet, lovely Friendship! if we may but find 
Thy cheering sunbeams thro' the valley steal 
To light our way — what happiness we feel ! 
Thy rays unveil'd — the pow^r of darkness driven, 
We taste of future joy — we taste of Heav'n ! 



ODE TO FRIENDSHIP. 17 



IV. 



O come, great blessing of the human heart ! 

Come and be mine ! — for ever let me know 
The sacred truth thy language can impart! 

The sacred warmth thy presence can bestow ! 
The breast would freeze in Apathy's embrace, 
And prove, perhaps, Humanity's disgrace; 
But touch'd by thee — inspir'd by thy controul - 
Sweet Love and Pity melt the grateful soul ! 



When heavy troubles rise, and gloomy Care 

Spreads o'er the morn of Hope the sable cloud ; 
When manly ardour sinks to deep despair, 

And pale Misfortune brings her giant crowd 
Of human woes — O then, to chase away 
The startling fears that weakness would display, 
Man looks on Friendship with dejected eyes, 
Leans on her breast, and on her pow'r relies. 

c 



!& ODE TO FRIENDSHIP- 



VI 



She smiles and soothes him : with congenial pain 

She feels the torture of his wearied mind, 
Yet smiles and soothes him : lovely Hope again 

Breaks through the cloud, and troubles fall behind 1 
Anxiety and Grief no more are seen 
To mark the pallid cheek : with look serene 
Man rears his brow above the vale of woe, 
And smiles on all the little cares below. 



VII. 

When blooming Joy, in rosy dimple drest, 

And gay Prosperity, of lively form, 
Give sweet enchantment to the feeling breast 

That once endured Misfortune's pelting storm; 
Vain is our joy — prosperity is vain — 
If, safely landed from the dangerous main, 
We meet no friend upon the sunny strand 
To greet the smile —to press the prorTer'd handl 



ODE TO FRIENDSHIP. 19 



VIII. 

O heav'nly Friendship ! when the blooming Spring 

Of human Life in gentle lustre glows, 
Or when the gloomy clouds of Winter fling 

On poor decrepid Age their chilling snows ; 
In ev'ry season, ev'ry trying hour, 
For heartfelt bliss we seek thy soothing pow'r. 
O aid me, Friendship ! ev'ry storm to brave — 
Attend my life, and bear me to the grave ! 



c2 



FRATERNAL AFFECTION. 



WRITTEN ON VISITING THE GRAVE OF A BROTHER WHO DIED 

IN CHILDHOOD. 



WHEN sultry day retires, and evening dews 
Refresh with cooling drops the summer flow'r, 

Then I delight to court the pensive muse, 
To walk alone, and bless the silent hour ! 

Fraternal Love ! dear inmate of the breast ! 

Inspire with pious warmth the duteous lay : 
Lead me to where a brother's ashes rest, 

And chase the airs of vanity away. 



FRATERNAL AFFECTION. 21 

The humble sod where silver daisies bloom, 
Where bladed grass is waving o'er the dead, 

May hold more virtue than the gorgeous tomb 
Where grandeur rears the monumental bed. 

This is the scene that teaches living man ! 

These lowly graves inspire the heartfelt sigh! — 
The frail wild flow'rs, that whisp'ring breezes fan, 

Our emblems here, may teach us how to die ! 

Like them we bloom and wither in a day,- — 

Like them we raise our heads in transient pride; 

But ah ! how soon the shadow glides away ! — 
How soon the bubble joins the passing tide ! 

Thus droop'd my brother. — O thou sacred shade ! 

How oft in childhood have I roam'd with thee 
O'er sunny hills, and thro' my native glade, 

In artless innocence and full of glee ! 

And yonder elm, whose ancient limbs are spread 
Wide o'er the mossy fence that skirts the green, 

Was oft our shelt'ring tree when fancy led 
Our wand'ring footsteps to this fav'rite scene. 



22 FRATERNAL AFFECTION. 

Then round the niould'ring stones we sportive trod, 
Nor gave one sigh for those beneath our feet : 

We little thought the same green rural sod 
Might form our cradle in our last retreat. 

But soon pale sickness came and stole thy bloom ; 

Thy dust lies here : — thy spirit from above 
May smile on him who seeks thy sylvan tomb 

To £ay the tribute of fraternal love ! 

O happy shade ! the days of trial o'er, 

The fleeting world and all its troubles past, 

The hand of sickness shall oppress no more, 
But promis'd bliss eternally shall last. 

O happy shade ! here rest in envied peace ! 

Thou art not vex'd with vanity or strife ! 
While I am left to see, as years increase, 

The hourly changing scenes of human life. 

Blest in thy fate, O truly blest! to find 
So early, sweet repose from ev'ry care ; 

Thou hast escaped the vices of mankind, 

That might have plung'd thee into dark despair. 



FRATERNAL AFFECTION. 23 

Perhaps the keenest pangs of sad remorse, 
The deep corroding woes of pale distress, 

Thou might'st have known, in thy uncertain course, 
Nor found on earth one soothing hand to bless. 

For O thou might'st have liv'd beyond the days 
Of those who wept o'er thee with anxious pain, 

When the last ling'ring fond pathetic gaze 

Hung on the words, " he ne'er will wake again!"* 

To me, dear shade, the bitter draughts that rise 
From Life's o'erflowing cup have never been 

So plenteous, as the cordial rich supplies 
That strengthen love in the domestic scene. 

Oh ! I have tasted the delightful stream 
That flows spontaneous from the gen'rous pow'rs 

Of sweet benevolence ! — the lively beam 
Of grateful joy illumes my happy hours ! 

The ardent warmth of friendship to my heart 
Conveys the soothing balm for ev'ry care ; 

And love's enchanting harmonies impart 
The charms that render ev'ry prospect fair. 

* He died without a struggle, as he lay asleep. 



24 FRATERNAL AFFECTION, 

How rapidly the silent wheels of Time 

Fly o'er the surface of Life's trackless road! 

It seems but lately that the tinkling chime 
Call'd me in childhood from my lov'd abode ! 

With thee, my brother, on the sabbath mom 

I walk'd in gay simplicity of mien, 
To hear the Pastor of the village w arn 

His gentle flock, in piety serene. 

And there the melody of sacred song 

Cheer'd the pure heart of innocence and truth: 

There inspiration warm'd the list'ning throng 
Of hoary tott'ring Age and florid Youth. 

Those were indeed the days of sterling joy ! 

O then a thousand simple pleasures met 
That haughty Manhood's frowning cares destroy I 

Those were the days I never can forget. 

Nor can I e'er forget, in Manhood's prime, 
The end of all — the rich, the poor, the great I 

No earthly pow'r can stay the hand of Time — 
No earthly greatness change the course of Fate. 



THE 



SORROWS OF CLAREMONT 



A DIRGE 



ON THE DEATH OF THE LAMENTED TRINCESS. 



THE morning rose on Claremont's lovely bow'rs, 
Cheering with golden smiles the happy hours ; 
Virtue and Love surveyed, with grateful eyes, 
The seat of ev'ry joy beneath the skies ; 
And Hope's enchanting voice had promise giv'n 
Of ev'ry blessing in the gift of heav'n. 

O days too full of happiness to last ! 

O joys most valued now for ever past! 



26 THE SORROWS OF CLAREMONT. 

Ye golden smiles that cheer'd the op'ning dawn 
On Claremont's lovely bow'rs ! —and are ye gone ? 
The brightest sunbeams of our mortal years 
Are shadows gliding thro' the vale of tears ; 
The scene of Love is deep in Sorrow's gloom, 
And Hope's imperial darling in the tomb. 

O days too full of happiness to last ! 

O joys for ever and for ever past ! 



THE 



POET AND EXPERIENCE. 



SUGGESTED BY SOME LINES ADDRESSED TO THE AUTHOR, BY 
A YOUNG POET WHOSE KNOWLEDGE OF THE WORLD WAS 
TOETICAL ONLY, 



AND could'st thou, " in some shady bow'r, 

Find sweet serene repose " ? 
And could'st thou " fly from trouble's pow'r 

And shield thee from thy woes " ? 

O say not so, thou simple bard ! 

Repose thou ne'er could'st find 
Unless thine actions won regard 

From suffering humankind. 



28 POET AND EXPERIENCE. 



POET. 

And could I not, in shady bow'r, 

Or in the silent grove, 
Be active still, thro' every hour, 

In friendship and in love ? 
And could I not, in days of leisure, 
Pursue the path of smiling pleasure ? 



EXPERIENCE. 

Of smiling Pleasure ! — there's the fall ! 

Where is the Man who hath 
The Cup of Life without its gall ? 

And where is Pleasure's path? 



POET. 

Oh ! I should find, in sweet repose, 

The calm delights of study ; 
And when sweet Morn o'er Nature throws 

Her mantle rich and ruddy, 
Then could I view, with raptured eyes, 
The splendid beauties of the skies ! — 



POET AND EXPERIENCE, 29 



EXPERIENCE. 

These would afford a mental treasure, 

And give superior joy ; 
But, as there is no earthly pleasure 

That grief cannot destroy, 
Ere thou could'st find the heart's relief 
Thy life must be insured from grief. 

POET. 

Alas ! my friend, I know too well 

That grief will oft intrude 
Within the Hermit's rural cell, 

The bower of solitude ; 
Yet sages tell, and mortals find, 
That grief and joy are in the mind— 
And if the mind has health and leisure 
It surely may be fill'd with pleasure. 

EXPERIENCE. 

O listen to the voice of Age ! 

O hear Experience, sanguine youth ! 
Let HeavVs decree thy mind engage, 

And thou wilt find the path of Truth, 



30 POET AND EXPERIENCE. 

That path shall guide thy steps aright 
To the fair " land of pure delight," 

Where everlasting love and peace 

Shall thro* eternity increase ; 
And, in that path alone, thy way 
If thou pursue, from day to day, 

Thou soon wilt find 

That Humankind 
Have not, on earth, an hour of pleasure, — 
Nor ought to have a day of leisure — 

For when the heart is left alone 

(That heart to sin for ever prone !) 
The mind will wander from the road ; — 
And then, 'tis then, the weary load 

Of grief and care 

(Too much to bear !) 
Draws the weak spirit from the blest abode, 
And brings the mind to trouble and despair, 
It is enough for Man to know 

That this decree is giv'n ; 
Be ever active, while below — 

For rest — retire to Heav'n ! 



FATHER'S FEELINGS 



ON THE DEATH OF HIS CHILD, 



The loveliest flow'r that ever sipp'd the dew 
Of Spring's fair morning, smiling o'er the dale^ 

In one short hour may lose its blooming hue — 
And fall to dust beneath the sudden gale ; 

Destruction may the beauteous flow'r pursue,. 

And leave no trace of where it lately grew. 



The brightest hopes are clouded o'er with care ;< 
The longest life is but a fleeting dream ; 

And all the scene, so lovely and so fair, 
Is but the charm of Fancy's glitt'ring beam. 

Where, then, is happiness ? Oh ! tell me where f 

Ask it of Heav'n, and thou shalt find it there. 



32 A father's feelings. 



But there icas one who oft my cares beguiled ! 

Can I forget him? — no — these tears may prove 
How much I felt thy sufferings, O my child ! 

How thy sweet patience won thy father's love ! 
Struggling with death — thy frame convuls'd and wild- 
Ev'n then, dear sufPrer ! thou wert calm and mild ! 



Child of my tenderest love ! while thou wert here 
I placed thee in my heart, my blooming rose ! 

But ah ! the unseen hand is always near, 
To crush the early blossom as it grows, — 

To bid the cherish'd treasure disappear, — 

And change our joy to sorrow's bitterest tear ! 



It seem'd as pitying Heav n, my darling boy ! 

Had bid thee from the world of sin depart, 
Lest thy young love should chain me, and destroy 

The hope of future Life within my heart ; 
Lest earthly ties should all my mind employ, 
And make me careless of the Land of Joy. 



a father's feelings. 33 

Lord of the Heav'ns and Earth! Thy will be done; — 
Thy sorrowing servant bows to Thy decree : 

May I now seek Thee, great Eternal One I 
And may my soul sincerely look to Thee : 

Thou hast my child — my dear departed son — 

Oh ! let me join him when my race is run ! 



THOUGHTS ON MORTALITY 



O HUMAN Wisdom, Pride, and Wealth! 
Beauty, and ever-blooming Health ! 

Where is your boasted pow'r? 
Poor transient beings of a breath ! 
Ye cannot stay the hand of Death — 

Ye are but for an hour ! 



All that is earthly will decay : 
Visions of Love will pass away 

Like the bright meteor flame ; 
Friendship, the sunbeam of the breast ! 
And Virtue, in her snowy vest,— 

Ev'n these are but a name ! 



THOUGHTS ON MORTALITY. 35 



O'er all the wide expansive earth 
What thousands, glorying in their birth, 

To Fame's high temple rise ! 
Who reign'd the mightiest man in Rome ? 
O lead me to his splendid tomb, 

And shew me where he lies! 



How are the mighty falPn ! — the brow 
So dignified — so great — where is it now ? 

The tomb neglects its trust : — 
The bones of heroes and of kings 
Are like all other human things, 

And crumble into dust ! 



The waters, and the boundless air, 
And all that they contain, will share 

The last great human fall ; 
Nought can avert that awful day— 
For ev'n the globe will melt away, 

And space will swallow alL 

d2 



36 THOUGHTS ON MORTALITY, 



What, then, is greatness and renown ? 
The peasant and the princely crown 

Must both obey the rod; 
Yet each triumphantly may rise 
To glorious mansions in the skies — 

The palaces of God ! 



STANZAS ON CHARITY. 



INSCRIBED TO MRS. SMITH, OF BERSTEAD LODGE; ON HER 
HAVING ESTABLISHED A CHARITY SCHOOL FOR YOUNG 
CHILDREN. 



VAIN is my wish ! — in vain my feeble song- 
Divine Beneficence! would rise to thee; 

Tho' simple feeling to my soul belong, 
The star of Genius never shone on me^ 

Hope is my guide, Simplicity my muse ; — 
No classic goddess gives the hallow'd fire ; 

Fancy o'er me sheds no pierian dews, 

And my hand trembles as I touch the lyre. 



38 STANZAS ON CHARITY. 

Yet come, ye dear emotions of my heart ! 

Your kindling warmth may energy convey ; 
And, tho* my words no elegance impart, 

Sweet kindness may accept the timid lay. 

O Charity ! descended from above ! 

The richest gift that Providence bestows ! 
Celestial child of Mercy and of Love ! 

Thou only Comforter of human woes ! 

Friend of Distress in every scene of strife ! 

Thy heav'nly voice can bid all troubles cease ; 
Can call expiring Virtue back to Life, 

And calm e'en Frenzy into mental peace. 

But 'tis thy favourite and first employ, 
In all thy tenderness for humankind, 

To fill the heart of Poverty with joy, 

And shield from ill the helpless infant mind. 

Spirit of Him who hears my anxious pray'r I 
To thy kind daughter be all blessings giv'n ; 

May she who makes the poor her daily care 
On earth enjoy the happiness of heav'n ! 



ODE 



TO THE RIGHT HONORABLE W. HUSKISSON, M. P. ON HIS 
APPOINTMENT AS SURVEYOR GENERAL OF HIS MAJESTY^ 
WOODS AND FORESTS. 



OF Nature's loveliest scenes possess'd, 

Amid sweet Eartham's rural bow'rs, 
Behold the noble Statesman rest 

In cool Retirement's envied hours ; 
And happy thro' his sylvan groves, 

Responsive from the leafy bough, 
Rich music hails him as he roves 

Like Cincinnatus at his plough. 



40 ODE. 



II. 



But, when his country calls, in vain 

The hills and vallies smile around ; 
Nor can the voice of Peace detain 

His footsteps in her fairy bound. 
Health's rosy ringer points the way 

To whisp'ring woods and silent glades, 
Yet patriot Duty hails the day 

That leads him from his fav'rite shades, 



III, 

O may my Benefactor's mind 

Ne'er feel the ills of party strife ; 
But once again in Eartham find 

The pure delights of village life ! 
Long — long may England know his worth ; 

Her Councils aided by his pow'r — 
And, when Old Age shall sink to earth, 

O happy be his final hour ! 



ODE. 41 



IV. 

How can true feeling be repress'd ? 

What earthly pow'r can e'er destroy 
The tide of ardour, in the breast 

That glows with gratitude and joy ? 
O no, thou ever gen'rous friend ! 

Thou earliest Patron of my song ! 
For thee my anxious pray'rs ascend, 

To thee my daily thanks belong,. 



V. 



Accept an ofFring of the heart 

Despising flattery and guile, 
And let my duteous lay impart 

Its gratulations in thy smile. 
Tho' feeble is my trembling voice, 

Nor fame nor fortune are for me, 
Yet ever shall my soul rejoice 

That noblest Honors wait on thee. 



TRIBUTE OF LOVE. 



INSCRIBED TO MY BEST EARTHLY FRIEND. 



THOU art my bosom friend ! my best belov'd ! 
O Mary ! in this world of bitter strife, 
How blest is he whose wayward fate has prov'd 
The heav'nly value of a virtuous wife ! 

And I have prov'd it. I have known the hour 
Of darkness that o'ershadows all the soul, 
When Man — unfeeling Man — assumes the pow'r 
To crush misfortune by his proud controuL 



A TRIBUTE OP LOVE. 43 

But, gentle soother of the grief-worn mind ! 
Thy sweet persuasion can a spell impart, 
That bids the stream of pure affection wind 
In floods of joy around the troubled heart. 

Then let pale Envy, with malignant Spite, 

And purse-proud Ignorance, with paltry Guile, — 

Let all the darkest pow'rs of Earth unite 

To bear me down : — and I will rise and smile ! 

The sunbeams of happiness burst o'er my head, 

To lighten my path as I go; 
And mental enjoyment before me has spread 

All the comforts a mortal can know. 

For what are the riches that Earth can afford 

Compared with a conscience at rest? 
And what is the pow'r of a King or a Lord 

By Love and by Friendship unblest? 

O give me but peace and the blessing of health 

For those that are dearest to me ! 
'Tis all, my belov'd ! that I covet of wealth — 

For myself, for my children, and thee. 



44 A TRIBUTE OF LOVE. 

May we but resign all that Providence gave 
With the firmness that Heaven bestows ! 

And may the same hour bring us both to the grave, 
Where all earthly sorrow must close. 



DEPARTED YEARS. 



INSCRIBED TO MRS. H. WHILE ON A VISIT TO HER 

NATIVE VALE. 



SWEET is the memory of departed years, 

When joy and youth were smiling in their dawn, 
To him who travels in the vale of tears — 
Feeling Mortality's vain hopes and fears — 
And meditates on scenes long past and gone ! 

Belov'd companion of my happiest days ! 

Endear'd the more the more thy worth is tried; 
Accept the love, the gratitude, and praise 
Of him who journeys thro' Life's rugged ways, 

And smiles at Care with Mary by his side ! 



46 DEPARTED YEARS. 

O what is all that earth can e'er bestow, 
What solid joy hath worldly treasure giv'n, 

Where love is not — where no affections flow — 

To mitigate the various ills below, 

And give the soul a sweet foretaste of heav'n ? 

Life would be waste, and Man no joy would find, 
If nought of heav'n upon the earth were known ; 
For God ordain'd a blessing to mankind 
When first th' omnipotent eternal mind 

Saw 'twas not good that man should be alone. 

Departed. years! ye rise before my view 

In all the freshness of your earliest hours, 
When glowing Fancy all the picture drew 
As fair and bright as was the morning dew 
That shed rich diamonds on my natal bow'rs. 

Tis sweet to muse upon the lovely Spring 

Of young Affection ; and to hear the voice 
Of Nature in the grove : Mem'ry will bring, 
As whisp'ring on the Zephyr's passing wing, 
Delightful hours that make the heart rejoice. 



DEPARTED YEARS. 47 

And thus my Mary, with renew'd delight, 
Retreads her footsteps in her native dale, 
Rememb'ring scenes where she, a little sprite, 
Play d o'er the daisied mead from morn till night, 
With heart as lively as the summer gale! 



STANZAS 



WRITTEN UNDER DEPRESSION OF MIND, 



I HAVE a burthen hard to bear — 

For I am doom'd to mourn 
The cold cold silence of a gen'rous friend, 
In whose regard I bore so rich a share 
That Hope had promised it would never end, 
And every prospect, every hour, was fair. 

Long has my wearied soul this burthen borne- 
When will my peace, my happiness, return? 



STANZAS. 49 

While Sickness hover'd o'er the bed 
Where my lov'd patron lay, 

Press'd by the ills of Life, and worn with care, 

My tortur'd mind to ev'ry joy was dead, 

And visionary demons of Despair 

Hung, like a cloud of darkness, round my head ; 
Yet firm I stood — and only felt dismay 
Lest death should tear my kindest friend away. 

But ah ! severe and dark decree ! 

Now am I doom'd to mourn, 
Not that my valued friend has ceas'd to live — 
(May heav'n still spare him many years to see !) 
Not that the world no joy to me can give — 
I grieve to know my friend is cold to me; 

And, while the glimm'ring lamp of Life shall burn, 
How can my peace, my happiness, return ? 



E 



THE 



DISTRESSED MOTHER. 



A BALLAD, FOUNDED ON FACT. 



HEAR a hapless mother's tale ! 

stranger, hear a tale of woe ! 

1 heard a parent thus bewail — 

1 saw her eyes with tears o'erflow;- 
And then she cried, distracted — wild- 

I have lost my only child ! 

My little Henry was my joy, 

I nurs'd him with the fondest care ; 

1 sought no pleasure but my boy — 
I taught him all my joy to share ! 

My Henry ev'ry care beguil'd; — 
He was my only — only child ! 



THE DISTRESSED MOTHER. 51 



His father was a soldier brave— 
Twas cruel war that bade us part; 

And when that soldier fell, the grave 
Deprived me of a noble heart. 

By grief oppress'd yet hard I toiPd 

To shield from want my only child. 



I fondly hoped to see his form, 

His features, into manhood spread; 

To see him brave each worldly storm 
Ere I should join the silent dead: 

So like his sire — his look so mild- — 

O how I lov'd my only child ! 



Pledge of the purest love — he cheer d 
His mother, in affliction's hour: 

When dark surrounding ills appear'd, 
And tears bedew'd my tender flow'r, 

He kiss'd my cheek — and then I smiPd, 

Enraptured with my only child ! 

e2 



52 THE DISTRESSED MOTHER, 



But ah ! no more I smile ! — bereft 
Of ev'ry comfort, ev'ry joy — 

No hope, no flatt'ring hope is left! 
Where shall I seek my darling boy ? 

No more my grief shall be beguil'd 

By him, my dear and only child ! 



'Twas in the dusk of y ester-eve, 
My door was open to the air — 

Some wretch who cares not how I grieve, 
Decoy'd the object of my care ! 

The crafty wolf like kindness smil'd, 

And robb'd me of my only child ! 



Alone I weep — alone I sigh- 
Alone I wander for his sake : 

I hear his voice ! — my love I fly ! — 
O no — my swelling heart will break ! 

Again she cried, distracted — wild — 

O I have lost my only child! 



ODE TO SENSIBILITY, 



COME, enchanting inmate of the breast ! 
Inspire my soul, and harmonize my lay ; 

With thy keen pow'r, thy vital fire, possess'd, — 

What glowing language may the muse convey ! 
What nervous thoughts, what breathing words impart, 
To rouse from apathy the human heart! 

1 would not see unmov'd, I would not hear 
With senseless gaze, the wailings of distress — 

I would not change the sympathetic tear, 

The heartfult wish to succour and to bless — - 
For all the pow ? r the world can e'er bestow, 
For all the wealth that Avarice can shew. 



54 ODE TO SENSIBILITY. 

Tho' no proud riches of the purse be mine, 
Tho' humble be my rank, my name unknown, 

Yet, Sensibility ! if thou entwine 

The fibres of my heart, and sweetly own 

The dear enchantment of my trembling lyre— 

O gift of heav'n ! I have my soul's desire. 

Come, then, blest pow'r ! and with thy heav'nly smile 
Charm my delighted eyes ! O let me see 

Thy faithful tenderness the grief beguile 
That melts in ardent gratitude to thee ! 

Let me, enraptur'd, hear the soothing voice 

That bids Misfortune smile and Want rejoice. 



ODE TO CONNUBIAL LOVE. 



BLESSING of heav'n! supreme delight! 
Fair as the morn that cheers the sight, 

And bids the sunbeams play ! 
O how shall grateful language speak 
The beauties, so sublimely meek, 

That charm thy silent way ! 

Thro' the dark paths of human life, 
Amid the scenes of woe and strife, 

In all our troubles here — 
To thee, lov'd subject of my song! 
The smiles of happiness belong ; 

Thou, thou art ever dear ! 



56 ODE TO CONNUBIAL LOVE. 

Light of the soul ! celestial joy ! 
No worldly trials can destroy 

The blessings of thy pow'r : 
The modest graces round thee wait, 
The virtues smile upon thy state, 

And hail thy peaceful hour. 



EPITAPH ON AN INFANT. 



FAIR as the fairest flow'ret of the wild, 
The lovely infant bud just peep'd and smiled ; 
Just show'd its winning innocence and mirth, 
And prov'd itself too pure to live on earth; 
When, from the weedy soil to which 'twas giv'n, 
Death bade it seek its native clime in heav'n ! 



LINES 



TO A YOUNG FRIEND, 



ON HIS HAVING EXPRESSED TO THE AUTHOR A DISLIKE OF 
HIS PRESENT STATION IN LIFE. 



HOW varied is the fate of man ! his earthly hour 
How dark ! himself a breathing clod, the pow'r 
That gave him life, that gave him all he knows, 
Guards his weak mind, and daily help bestows : 
Yet — still unsatisfied the human heart— 
The^anxious wish, the frail desire, will start; 
Presumption hopes to be more amply blest, 
To live in joy — to sink in joy to rest. 
Frail mortal ! — know thyself — thy nature scan — 
And learn to think that man is only man ! 



LINES TO A YOUNG FRIEND. 59 

Thy boasted might, thy mimic pow'r, shall cease — 
Thy strength shall fail — thy weakness shall increase — 
The pow'r that yesterday thy being gave 
Today may call thee to the silent grave — 
Think, then, how soon the lamp of life is spent ! 
O know thyself — and learn to be content. 



SONNET 

TO MR. JOHN BEALE, 

On receiving from him a Copy of his first Publication. 
(A Sonata for the Piano Forte.) 



PUPIL of Nature, and of him * whose hand 
By the enchantment of sweet Music's pow'r 

Can bind the feeling soul to his command ! 
I hail, dear Beale, I hail this happy hour : 

For truly I rejoice that soon thy name 

May take its rank upon the rolls of Fame, 

And thus before th' approving world may stand 

Conspicuous, honor'd, and admired !— O that he, 

Thy brother and my friend, had lived to see 
Thy genius favor'd by thy native Land ! 

How would his gen'rous heart o'erflow with joy! 
How would the Alpine wildness of thy strain 
Rouse all the music of his mind ! — Again 

His smiles, his tears, would bless his Minstrel Boy. 

* The justly celebrated Cramer. 



SONNET 



ON THE BIRTH OF MY SEVENTH CHILD. 



26th April, 1819. 



A lovelier morn ne'er came from bounteous heav'n ! 

O 'twas the hour when Nature, full of joy, 
Rejoiced with me ; for then to me was giv'n 

Another pledge of love — another boy ! 
Spring ! thou art ever welcome, ever fair — 

A thousand beauties thy sweet face adorn — 

Pure as the dewdrops on thy leafy thorn 
When the young dawn, enliv'ning all the air, 
Comes dancing from the east, with golden hair — 

Yet thou wert lovelier when my boy was born ! 
O let me bow to Him who reigns above, 

The king of heav'n — the guardian of my days ! 
To Him, the God of Mercy and of Love, 

Rise, O my soul ! in gratitude and praise. 



A FRIEND. 



WRITTEN EXTEMPORE ON A FRIEND OF THE AUTHOR COM- 
PLAINING OF THE WORLD'S UNKINDNESS, AND THE 
UNCERTAINTY OF WORLDLY FRIENDSHIP. 



Amid this world of hourly care 
Where much is false, that seemeth fair, 
O who will all our feelings share ? 

A FRIEND. 

When prosperous hours their sweets display, 
And all around is bright and gay, 
Who loves to join us on the way ? 

A FRIEND, 



A FRIEND. 63 

When wounded feelings keenly smart, 
Pierced by misfortune's cank'ring dart, 
Then who will sympathy impart? 

A FRIEND. 

If dark suspicion cloud the mind, 
And all the ills of humankind 
Frown on the man, where can he find 

A FRIEND? 

Ah ! where indeed I— the friend has flown, 
And all the joys of earth are gone ! 
Then, then he finds in Heaven alone 

A FRIEND. 



HYMN. 

ON MY OWN BIRTH-DAY. 

Adapted to the Tune of the 148 Psalm, Dr. Haydn. 
See " Bennetth Sacred Melodies." Chichester. 



Lord of Life ! of all creation ! 

Thou hast brought me to this hour ; 
Teach my soul to seek salvation 

By Religion's holy pow'r. 
Lord of Life ! inspire my feelings, 

Grateful for thy constant care ; 
Let this day, in thy revealings, 

Save me, trembling, from despair. 
Lord of Life ! who gave me being, 

Bless the treasure thou hast giv'nj 
And, my earthly weakness seeiug, 

O prepare my mind for heav'n ! 



HYMN. 



God exalteth by hispow'r. Job, Chap, xxxvi, ver. 22. 



THOUGH Life is dark on ev'ry side, 

Though clouds and threatening tempests low'r, 

Sweet heav'nly hope shall be my guide, 
For God exalteth by his pow'r. 

On troubled seas the bark is toss'd, 
While sharks are waiting to devour ; 

Yet Faith beholds the friendly coast — 
For God exalteth by his pow'r. 

The evils of the world may steal 

Increasing round me ev'ry hour ; 
But thou, my soul, wilt ever feel 

That God exalteth by his pow'r. 

F 



HYMN. 



God! in thee I put my trust. 



O GOD ! in thee I put my trust, 
My guide, my only friend ! 

May no vain thought of earthly bliss 
My wav'ring mind attend ! 

O may thy mercy and thy love 

Inspire me with delight, 
That I may bear the painful day, 

And slumber thro' the night ! 

In all the trials of my Life, 

Whatever be their form, 
Father of goodness ! cheer my way, 

And shield me from the storm. 



HYMN. 



God is our hope and strength. 



GOD is our hope and strength, 
Our refuge in distress ; 
And He alone can give us aid, 
When nought on earth can bless, 

When darkening clouds surround 
The Mortal's hopes and fears, 
He pours a light into the soul — 
" And wipes away all tears. " 

f 2 



68 HYMN, 

The weary wounded mind, 
By worldly cares oppress'd, 
To Him its agonies may speak, 
On Him securely rest. 

Our God ! our hope and strength ! 
Accept my anxious pray'r : 
O still support my trembling frame,— 
And banish every care ! 



RELIGIOUS LIBERTY. 



WRITTEN IN REPLY TO SOME VERSES FROM A YOUNG 



FEMALE FRIEND. 



THANKS for your wishes, gentle friend ! 

The wishes of your heart; 
Thanks for the pleasing lines you send, 

Such kindness to impart. 

Yes — Liberty indeed is joy, 

When to the mind is giv'n 
What nought on earth can e'er destroy — 

A free access to Heav'n ! 



70 RELIGIOUS LIBERTY. 

O 'tis the joy of christian love ! 

The eye of Faith can see 
The arm descending from above 

That sets the captive free. 

The wond'rous change that in the soul 
Is wrought by heav'nly pow'r, 

Gives Liberty without controul, 
And brightens ev'ry hour. 

This, this is Freedom ! Here she speaks 

With Inspiration's voice! 
She gives a throne to him who seeks, 

While angel tongues rejoice. 



STANZAS TO SILENCE. 



O how I love with thee to walk, 
And listen to thy whisper'd talk ! 



Thomson. 



WELCOME attendant of the poet's dream ! 

Friendly companion of his raptur'd hour ! 
Assist thy votary on a favorite theme 

With all the kindness of thy placid pow'r! 

Oft have I wish'd for thee, and wish'd in vain ;— 
Oft have I sought thee at the ev'ning close, — 

And found thee hovering o'er the rural plain, 
And gently soothing nature to repose. 



72 STANZAS TO SILENCE. 

When all the weary grove suspends the lay 
Whose notes re-echo'd thro' the dewy morn,— 

How sweet to steal along the woodland way, 
And bless thy charms beneath my fav'rite thorn ! 

How warm the glow that throbs around my heart, 
When thus I view great Nature's pensive mien, 

Musing, to see the glare of day depart, 
While fancy grows enamour'd of the scene. 

I love to mark fair Evening's gradual pow'r 
With thee O Silence ! in the grassy vale; 

Approaching softly — softly — on the hour, 
Waving her mantle in the strength'ning gale. 

O let us seek the ancient mossy tree 

By peaceful Lavant's gently flowing stream; 

Whose chrystal waters, trickling thro' the lea, 
Brightly reflect the day's declining beam. 

There would I sit and watch the wand'ring leaves 
That, circling, down the little river stray; 

Where the brown rock the floating group receives, 
Now stopt, now riding on the trackless way. 



STANZAS TO SILENCE. 73 

Then would I muse upon the falling leaf, 
That gives of human life a moral view : 

High on the lordly oak, in glory brief, 

It late defied the roughest blast that blew ! 

But now autumnal heats have dried its veins 
That pow'r, that smiling greatness, is no more ! 

No more the lowly bramble it disdains, 

But lowlier lies than what it scorn'd before ! 

Come, gentle Silence ! I would roam with thee 
Thro' woods and vales, in solitude sedate ; 

Where contemplation dwells, so dear to me ! 
I'd roam and think upon my destin'd fate. 

O come ! attend me while I view the scene 
That pensive minds with ardent wonder fills, 

When midnight stars in bright array convene 
To shed soft radiance on the misty hills ! 

And there will smile the lovely sparkling eye 

Of Admiration ! who, on ev'ry sod, 
Can trace some work, that speaks, in language high, 

The pow'r of Nature, and of Nature's God! 



THE 



CHILD OF MISFORTUNE. 



Our griefs are less when shared ; the wretch bereft 
Of Pity's comfort is a wretch indeed. 

Anon. 



O MARK yon pensive mortal ! how he stands 

With aspect heedless of the busy crowd 
That moves around ! his nervous trembling hands 

Uprais'd to heav'n ! — Sad trouble's darkest cloud 
Hangs heavy on his brow ! — The downcast eye, 

The sudden stamp, the motions strangely wild, 
The sullen mutter, and the plaintive sigh, 

Bespeak the wailings of Misfortune's Child! 



THE CHILD OF MISFORTUNE. 75 



II. 



Ah ! who can tell the keenness of his woes ! 

Who knows the secrets of his bleeding heart ! 
Cold as the blast that o'er the mountain blows, 

Perhaps a sire compels him to depart 
From that dear home, where, as the morning gay, 

He oft has revel'd, and the parent smil'd, 
Till formal sternness drove him far away . 

A lonely wanderer, and Misfortune's Child ! 



III. 



Alas ! the maid, whose soft angelic soul 

And virtuous mind his youthful breast inspire, 
Shines not in worldly riches at controul, — 

The first great object of the wealthy sire; — 
The lover vainly pleads her mental store; — 

" My house by poverty was ne'er defiPd, 
" Nor ever shall," the father cries, whose door 

No more is open to Misfortune's Child I 



76 THE CHILD OF MISFORTUNE, 



IV 



Perhaps, encompass'd round by worldly care, 

The mourner sighs not for himself alone ; 
A poor dejected partner, in despair 

Weeps for her children's sufT'rings, and her own ! 
The dire mysterious fiends of misery's train 

Have all their sweet domestic hopes beguil'd ; 
And smiles of happiness may ne'er again 

Illume the brow of sad Misfortune's Child ! 



V. 



The grasp of pow'r, the frown of darkening fate, 

May fall on poor defenceless Virtue's head ; 
And Industry, with face and heart elate, 

May groan in sudden sickness on his bed : 
Who then can say, devoid of pity's glow, 

That yon pale mortal, when he should have toil'd, 
Became by guile of honesty the foe ? 

Or fell by indolence Misfortune's Child ? 



THE CHILD OF MISFORTUNE. 77 



VI. 



Tis true that Misery may oft enrol 

In her long list, full many a genuine son, 
Who careless yields his voluntary soul, 

Thro' Dissipation's flowery path to run ; — 
The ruin'd gamester, and the reeling sot 

There stand conspicuous, but with names revil'd ! 
Each takes his share of woe — but each has not 

A claim to pity, as Misfortune's Child. 



VII. 

O how uncertain is the fate of man ! 

Who can foresee the ills of human life ? 
Vain is each fond anticipated plan 

Of future joy ! — In vain the anxious wife 
With sweet domestic energy fortells, 

That evVy worldly care may be beguil'd 
By the dear babe for whom her bosom swells ! 

Alas ! he may become Misfortune's Child ! 



78 THE CHILD OF MISFORTUNE* 



VIII. 

Yon mourner's meekness, and his silent tear, 

Plead to the breast of feeling's gentle sway ; 
Now his quick momentary looks appear 

The keen remembrance of a brighter day ! 
Now transitory hope seems lost and dead, 

Now his eye flashes ! now, serenely mild, 
He scarcely sighs— but O what sudden dread 

Now fills the bosom of Misfortune's Child ! 



IX, 



Ye proud ! ye rich ! who heedless pass him by, 

Nor deign one kind, one soothing look to give ; 
O suffer not a brother man to die 

When nature's sympathy may bid him live ! 
Ah see ! he starts ! — and from his frenzied dream 

Marches, with step unequal, staring wild ! 
O take him, Pity ! thy inspiring beam 

May save the reason of Misfortune's Child ! 



ODE 



ON THE BIRTH OF A FIRST CHILD, 



LITTLE infant, bringing pleasure, 
Greatest pleasure of the heart; 

Oh ! what bliss, thou heav'nly treasure, 
Does thy birth to me impart! 

Who would be debarr'd for ever 
From the joys of wedded love ? 

Who can say that joy is never 
Found but in the realms above? 



80 ON THE BIRTH OF A FIRST CHILD, 

Yes, though life is full of trouble, 

Still we are supremely blest; 
Else why now are these sweet raptures 

Felt within a father's breast ? 

Little helpless trembling creature ! 

Wonders in thy frame appear : 
In each tender lovely feature, 

Something tells me thou art dear. 

Dearer than the world's vain pleasure, 

Dearer far than miser's gold : 
Wealth beyond Peruvian treasure 

In my daughter I behold. 

Oh ! how blest to be a father ! 

Infant smiles how sweet to see ! 
Smiles to me of greatest comfort, 

Source of pure delight to me. 

With what fond and anxious watching 

Shall I see thy little ways ! 
With what fondness shall I hear thee 

Prattle in thy infant days ! 



ON THE BIRTH OF A FIRST CHILD. 81 

Oh ! my dearest little daughter, 

Greet thy father with a smile ; 
Cheer his days, and keep him happy; 

Love from thee will care beguile. 



ON THE 



MARRIAGE OF A FRIEND, 



AWAKE, my lyre ! awake to joy ! 

I feel its pow'rful-thrilling sway: 
Thy wildly-breathing notes employ, 

While rapture trembles thro' the lay ! 

Hail, virtuous object of a virtuous soul ! 

Long may the bliss, the heavenly bliss, be thine 
O'er thy lov'd husband's mind with sweet controul 

To reign, and round his feeling heart entwine ! 



ON THE MARRIAGE OF A FRIEND. 83 

And thou, protector of my infant song ! 

Who found'st thy poet drooping and forlorn ; 
O may each heartfelt joy to thee belong ! 

Long may thy chosen pearl thy breast adorn ! 

Awake, my lyre ! awake to joy ! 

Ne'er shalt thou flatt'ry's tone impart; 
Ne'er feeling's sweetest theme annoy, 

But speak the language of the heart ! 



g2 



SONNET 



TO MRS. ******. 



1809. 



IF tenderness, depicted in the eye, 

The soul to warm benevolence inclined, 
The voice whose soothing accents can supply 

The healing balsam to the wounded mind ; 
The heart that pity's throb will ne'er deny ; 

If these, by ev'ry gentle grace refin'd, 
May claim, O lady ! the approving lay, 

Accept this humble tribute, — nor disdain 
To read thy youthful poet's artless strain, 

Howe'er unfit thy virtues to display ! 
O may the pow'r who shapes the breathing form, 

And fills the human mind with sacred fire, 
'Till life itself shall cease thy breast to warm, 

With pure felicity thy soul inspire! 



ODE 



WRITTEN BY MOONLIGHT IN THE CITY OF CHICHESTER. 



HAIL thou fair orb ! bright lamp of silent night! 

Empress supreme of midnight's shining train ! 
In silver rays of mildly-beaming light 

How welcome thou upon the tractless plain ! 
But not less welcome to my pensive mind 
While on this city's walls I sit reclin'd. 



Yon ancient dome and high cathedral tow'r 
Look solemn rising to my lonely view; 

The heavy bell tolls out night's latest hour, 
And slowly on the tombs descends the dew; 

Here let me pause, and gaze upon the scene ? 

A moral lesson awfully rerene ! 



80 ODE, 



Upon this very spot, where now I stand, 
With eyes uplifted to yon spangled arch, 

How oft, perhaps, has pensive Collins plann'd 
Some ode sublime ! or pac'd in raptur'd march ! 

And often too upon this sacred ground 

The poet mus'd, while wrapt in thought profound ! 



Within the eloister'd walls, or lofty aisle, 
With frenzied look and bosom all on fire, 

Perchance he walk'd ; or round the soaring pile 
Aloud re-echoed his enchanting lyre ! 

That heav'nly lyre which now no more will breathe, 

For oh ! its master lies yon turf beneath ! 



In worldly life the hapless days he knew 

Of wayward Fortune's hard and fickle pow'r ; 

Her bright and sunny days to him were few, 
And ere they shone he saw her tempest low'r : 

But now he rests; and, honoring his name, 

Pure Sculpture witnesses the Poet's fame. 



ON 



HEARING THE ORGAN AND CHOIR 



IN CHICHESTER CATHEDRAL. 



HARK ! how the grand and solemn organ peals ! 
Join'd by the vocal choir in sacred notes 
The sound along each aisle melodious floats, 

And thro' the melting soul sublimely steals ! 

In human language how can be exprest 

The thrilling raptures that pervade my breast ! 



And, as the listening ear each note attends, 
The lofty walls and figur'd dome combine 
To fill the mind with energy divine ; 

While now in whisp'ring tones the anthem ends ! 

Oh ! how delightful the celestial scene 

Where nought but music breaks the deep serene ! 



SUN -SET. 



I. 



MAJESTIC king of glorious day, 
How beauteous is thy setting ray ! 
Thine orb is sinking from my view 
To other realms ; bright sun adieu ! 
How animating is thy reign ! 
Yet welcome to the labouring swain 
To see thy lingering parting beam 
Upon the western billow gleam. 



SUJS-SET. 89 



II. 



Wild Nature's songs across the lea 
Pour soft the farewell strain to thee; 
The little hopper, as I pass, 
Sings merry o'er the heathy grass : 
Upon the green fern's tender top 
The wheatears*, gaily chirping, drop ; 
"While near the ground the swallows skim, 
And larks trill high their ev'ning hymn. 



III. 



The wearied teams from labour freed, 
Now graze at ease around the mead ; 
At rest from plough and summer heat, 
This hour to them is doubly sweet: 
The cows resign their milky store, 
And lighter roam the pasture o'er; 
And hark ! o'er yonder waving corn 
What music shakes the dark'ning thorn I 

* These birds are numerous on the heaths of Sussex, 



00 SUN-SET, 



IV. 

Night's lonely minstrel tunes the lay, 

While on each trembling leafy spray 

Around her little heaving breast, 

She hushes into gentle rest 

Full many a blithe day-warbling throaty 

Now yielding to her mellow note ; 

Nor will she cease her varied song, 

But swell the strain the whole night long. 



Oh ! come, fair offspring of the day ! 
Mild Evening, hither haste away ; 
Thy silent pow'r to me is dear; — 
I see thee softly now appear : 
Thy breezy locks yon hills enfold, 
Besprinkled o'er with radiant gold ; 
Thy half-veil'd face, serene and fair, 
Smiles sweetly on the sons of care. 



THE 



ARUN'S SIDE. 



THOSE happy hours will ne'er again 
Return, when on the rural plain 

Extending far and wide, 
I liv'd an artless shepherd boy, 
And sought each day my lov'd employ 

Adown by Arun's side. 



A little stripling, ruddy fac'd, 

When seven years I scarce had trac'd, 

It was my harmless pride 
To drive my flock o'er hill and dale, 
Or let them taste the moisten'd gale 

Adown by Arun's side. 



02 THE ARUN'S SIDE. 



With sun-burnt face and sultry drops, 
The scorching hills and hazel copse 

Would then my care divide; 
For, when were parch'd hill, dale, and field, 
The shady copse green grass would yield 

Adown by Arun's side. 



And there sweet Nature's hidden store, 
Untouch' d by mortal hand before, 

Delighted I descried; 
There, in its brightest purest hue, 
In vernal grot the violet grew 

Adown by Arun's side. 



When from me stray'd the roaming sheep, 
Through each green alley would I creep, 

With Rover for my guide; 
Shrill music echo'd o'er my head, 
Beneath my feet soft verdure spread, 

Adown by Arun's side, 



THE ARUN'S SIDE. 93 



How pleasing is the rural life ! 
Unknown to care, unknown to strife, 

The moments sweetly glide; 
But now no more these scenes for me ; 
Farewell the days of rustic glee 

Adown by Arun's side ! 



ON THE 



LOVE OF NATURE, 



AMID the din of commerce I would tell 
What charms the rural landscape can display 

O let my muse the theme she loves so well 
Claim as her own, to decorate the lay ! 

The pleasures that from simple nature rise 

Most soothe my fancy, and enchant mine eyes ! 



Spring smiles around — the bud begins to peep, 
The grassy dale a cheerful face to wear; 

Expanding flowrets from their prisons creep, 
In vernal sweetness to the morning air: 

And fields and groves harmoniously proclaim, 

In songs of joy, the great Creator's name! 



ON THE LOVE OF NATURE. 95 



While Summer beams upon the upland brow, 
The pow'rful warmth rears high the rising grain : 

The fruit swells gradual on the leafy bough, 
And waving meads employ the village swain. 

The woodland's deep recess, the forest glade, 

Charms the enthusiast of the silent shade. 



Brown.Autumn comes with wild-wood berries crown'd, 
Spangled with dew-drops from the sylvan thorn ; 

The plenteous harvest fills the prospect round, 
And exultation meets the happy morn : 

The grateful Farmer's ardent pray'r is blest, 

And labour's sweet reward delights his breast. 



Bleak Winter whistles thro' the leafless trees, 
And drives in fury down the dreary vale ; 

Yet shall the alter'd landscape cease to please? 
And shall the Poet's admiration fail? 

O no — in snowy wastes we beauty find, 

And every season charms the feeling mind ! 



96 ON THE LOVE OF NATURE. 



All bounteous Nature ! who thy works can view, 
The various wonders of the changing year, 

And still refuse thy vesture to bedew 

With tears of joy, with warm devotion's tear! 

He that pretends to love his native land 

Must look to heav'n, and bless the Maker's hand! 



Happy the man whose vivid skill can trace, 
With magic touch, the sweet romantic dell ! 

Whose hand aspires to copy Nature's face, 

And bids the vale decline, the mountain swell! 

Painting ! thy charms with transport I survey, 

Though wanting power thy wonders to display. 



What numerous blessings are bestow'd on man, 
And ev'ry hour sublimely meet the sight ! 

Yet thousands gaze upon the wond'rous plan 
Of heav n and earth, and feel no dear delight. 

Ye narrow souls ! who wealth alone desire, 

O never to the rural scene retire ! 



ON THE LOVE OF NATURE. 97 



Wealth can impart, to him who knows its use, 
The highest bliss — the bliss of doing good ! 

But the cold heart, whose sternness can refuse 
To ease distress, with honesty endued, 

Will ne'er observe of wealth the first great end, — 

To nourish virtue, and the poor befriend. 



O heavenly charity ! thy cheering smile 

Can charm the soul of sorrow's hopeless child ; 

Thy healing balm can ev'ry pain beguile 

Of pining grief; — and wide o'er Nature's wild, 

At pity's call, thy weeping eye is led 

Where'er the prey of cruelty has bled ! 



Teach me, O charity ! thou guide divine ! 

My troubles to sustain, and others cure ; 
Still let me feel for wants surpassing mine, 

And learn from gratitude to aid the poor ; 
Convinc'd if I to thorny paths am born, 
Thousands are wounded by a sharper thorn! 

H 



LINES 



WRITTEN ON THE PLATFORM AT PORTSMOUTH, 



HAIL blest Britannia's naval pow'r! 

Whose various strength here meets my view, 
Where rich commercial blessings show'r 

From climes far o'er the waves so blue : 
Yon streamers, waving in the air, 

High on the floating forest rise 
Of tow'ring masts, that seem to dare 

The stormy tempest of the skies ! 



LINES WRITTEN AT PORTSMOUTH. 99 



II. 



Around, upon the wave-lash'd wall, 

The pond'rous thundering tubes of war 
Expressive words of ardour call 

From many a soldier, many a tar : 
And as they view the warlike sight, 

Their fancy hears the thunder roar : 
" Glory !" they cry, " our country's right 

" These arms shall guard till life's no more!" 



IIL 

O'er the bright waves, expanding wide, 

How charming to the gazer's eye 
To see, while sunbeams gild the tide, 

The little bark sail gently by ! 
Sweet emblem of a happy life ! 

May mine thus smoothly glide away!- 
Unruffled by the storms of strife 

Oh ! let me pass Life's transient day ! 

h2 



100 LINES WRITTEN AT PORTSMOUTH 



IV. 



While ocean's bosom thus serene 

Receives the softly-breathing air ; 
In calmness smiling on the scene, 

Yon little Island* rises fair; 
Around whose rocks and chalky side 

The rolling surges foam and roar; 
Or gentle waves in peace divide, 

And whisp'ring bathe the pebbly shore. 



V. 



There is the pleasant winding dale, 

The wood array'd in leafy green; 
And there the raptur'd muse shall hail 

The craggy clifFs romantic scene: 
The straggling foliage wildly grows 

Through the sequester'd flowery glade, 
And Nature's hand, all bounteous, throws 

Her beauties round the woodland shade. 



* The Isle of Wight, 



LINES WRITTEN AT PORTSMOUTH. 101 



VI. 

England's fair garden ! with delight 

Hence I discern thy hill and dale, 
And while the prospect charms my sight, 

Gayly thy distant scenes I hail ! 
Hail thee, though not with leisure blest 

Nearer to view thy various charms : 
Britannia's favorite nursling, rest 

Most happy in her guardian arms ! 



THE 



VILLAGE vSCHOOL-MISTRESS. 



ON Arun's bank, my native vale, 

Where pass'd my sportive infant days, 

There liv'd a neat and cleanly dame 

Whose learning gain'd the village praise 

For well she knew to guide the pin 
Across the Primer's mottled page ; 

And she had read, and could explain 
The Scripture through, with aspect sage. 



THE VILLAGE SCHOOL-MISTRESS. 103 

She oft with birch the youngster scar'd, 

Or pinn'd him to her apron blue ; 
And which the scholar, which the dunce, 

By early proof her judgment knew. 

Her solitary cottage stood 

Snug shelter'd from the northern breeze ; 
With mossy thatch warm cover'd o'er, 

And shaded by two high elm trees. 

A path, with pinks and daisies trimm'd, 

Led from the homely entrance gate ; 
The door, worm-eaten and decay'd, 

Bespoke the tenant's low estate. 

'Twas she first taught my infant tongue 

The hard-learn'd characters to trace ; 
'Twas she first caus'd the cloud of care 

To rush in showers down my face. 

Oft have I walk'd, in frosty morn, 

Across the common wide and bleak, 
" Creeping, like snail/' a loit'ring pace, 

With shiv'ring limbs and visage meek. 



104 THE VILLAGE SCHOOL-MISTRESS. 

Or when, in summer's genial hours, 

With blooming thyme the heath would smile, 
I've staid to cull the purple flow'r, 

And climb'd reluctant o'er the stile, 

And often have I linger'd there, 

And stopt to see, with raptur'd eyes, 

The little warbling joyous lark 
Above the village steeple rise. 

Yet, though with pure delight I lov'd 
To gaze on nature's beauteous vest, 

The time thus spent dame call'd a crime, 
And blushes oft that crime confess'd. 

First lectur'd sharp ; then was I doom'd 
Beneath her chast'ning hand to bow ; 

Or to the apron pinn'd, to grieve 
Before the matron's frowning brow. 

There trembling stand; while she perchance 
Caress'd some dunce : nor dar'd I ask, 

With swimming eyes, to be releas'd, 
Nor glance aside my destin'd task* 



THE VILLAGE SCHOOL-MISTRESS. 105 

Hard was the task ; yet harder still, 

While others roved enjoying play, 
To be a prisoner left alone, 

With bursting heart there doom'd to stay. 

But when the sov'reign of the school 
Was pleas'd, and on me kindly smiled, 

Then none so happy, none so blythe, 
And none to learn more cheerful toil'd. 

Head student in the humming throng, 

A rank by all superior thought, 
Was my much-envied happy lot, 

And elders my insruction sought. 

On ev'ry busy washing day 

To regency I made my claim ; 
Exalted on her brown rush throne, 

While foaming suds half hid the dame. 

Quick flutt'ring in my little breast 
Proud joy was mine, and ruling sway ; 

I smiled in pity on the dunce 
CompelPd my mandate to obey. 



106 THE VILLAGE SCHOOL-MISTRESS. 

Oh ! cou'd I now as happy prove ! 

As soon elate my bosom glow ! 
But now, amid the cares of Life, 

No more can I such pleasure know ! 

She who within my infant mind 

Saw learning's earliest shoot appear, 

Now rests beneath the sacred sod; 
And still to me her memory's dear. 

Simplicity ! thou gentle power ! 

Weep o'er her lowly rural shade ; 
O Truth ! bestow thy warmest tear 

Where thy kind advocate is laid. 

Ah! Dame, I knew not as I pass'd 

The ancient yew, when school'd to thee, 

That I should live to see thy grave 
Beside that hollow spreading tree. 

Mute is thy meekly warning voice ; 

Thy kind instructive accents cease ; 
And oft thy pupil thinks of thee : 

Oh ! may thy spirit rest in peace ! 



RECOLLECTIONS 



ON A VISIT TO THE PLACE OF MY NATIVITY 



COME, faithful memory ! lend thine aid, 
While in unpolished lay I tell 

Of well-known scenes, my rural home, 
The furzy hill and verdant dell. 

How dear to me my native vale ! 

The soil that once with labour hard 
Set forth my daily plough-boy toil, 

Now claims from me unfeign'd regard. 



108 RECOLLECTIONS. 

For often o'er these crumbling clods 
I've stalk'd and whistled by my team, 

With frock of blue, and brown straw hat, 
Scorch'd by the summer's fervid beam. 

The harmless worm, when by the share 

Invaded in its dark retreat, 
With mould upturn'd to meet the day, 

Unheeded curPd beneath my feet. 

A simple and untutor'd child, 
I thought not of the moral true 

That I, ye lowly crawling worms, 
Was just as lowly born as you. 

But hark ! a pleasant rural sound 
From yon green hill salutes my ear ! 

It is the sheep-bell's tinkling note 
As o'er the brow the flocks appear. 

Familiar still it seems to me, 

And gives my raptur'd bosom joy; 

For oft I climb'd that very hill 
As cheerful as yon shepherd boy. 



RECOLLECTIONS. 109 

With pleasure too I bring to mind 

How on the grassy turf I lay, 
Forming the simple withy pipe, 

And wildly warbling through the day. 

Then, from the furze-bush blooming near, 

Above my head the brown lark rose, 
And mounting to the fleecy clouds, 

Most sweetly sang me to repose. 

But now I turn to other scenes ; 

Each native object claims the lay; 
And, as I gaze, still to my heart 

The speechless rapture finds its way. 

On sedgy Arun's further side 

An ancient castle* still appears, 
Whose ivy'd walls have caught my view, 

And charm'd me in my earliest years. 

And often, when through azure skies 
On frosty plains the moonbeam shone, 

Across the water's surface bright 
I listen'd to the rustic tone 

* Amberley Castle, now belonging to Lord Selsey. 



110 RECOLLECTIONS. 

Of ploughman's voice, beneath the walls 
While dash'd his horses in to lave ; 

The sound, tho' far, was plainly heard, 
And echo'd o'er the silver wave. 

At early morn, when from the spray 
Hangs many a globe of cooling dew, 

In yonder mead 'tis sweet to hear 
The cow-boy blithe his task pursue. 

Ah ! happy boy ! thy simple voice, 
Which carols to the laden cows, 

Reminds me of the sylvan day 

When I the dairy thus could rouse ! 

Dear are these varying scenes to me ! 

In these revive my former joys! 
Each little mole-hill trimm'd with flow'rs, 

Each craggy bank my thought employs ; 

The bank with crawling brambles hung, 
Its sides bedeck'd with many a flower; 

All fragrant with the violet's scent 
At morning's sweet and breezy hour; 



RECOLLECTIONS. Ill 

The willow o'er the rushy pool 

Low drooping down its yellow head ; 
The grass-edg'd stream, that glitt'ring shews 

The pebbly sand within its bed; 

The meadow cloth'd in vernal green, 
The field enrich'd with plenteous corn ; 

The sweetest scenes pure nature gives ; 
All these my native vale adorn : 

And all, well-known in Life's fair spring, 

Endear to me the rural spot; 
Yet still, of all that claim my song, 

Most valued is my natal cot : 

The home belov'd, beneath whose thatch 

I first my vital blessing drew ; 
Where infant love and artless joy 

Were all I wish'd and all I knew ! 

The grape-vine o'er its flinty walls 

As seasons roll yet slowly creeps ; 
The pale green poplar forms a shade, 

And there the cherish'd floweret peeps. 



112 RECOLLECTIONS. 

The honeysuckle fondly twines 
Encircled round the old oak door, 

And gives its sweetness to the breeze 
That softly waves its branches o'er. 

Could I ascend the wings of fame, 

Or, Bloomfield ! tune the reed like thee, 

Then long posterity should know 
How dear my native home to me ! 



THE PARENT. 



A FRAGMENT, 



O Man ! to thee what blessings are decreed ! 
From Nature's God what glorious works proceed ! 
How great the act, when first the heav'nly mind 
From chaos formed the earth; from dust mankind! 
He rais'd His pow'rful hand — He wav'd His rod — 
The dark abyss obey'd th' Almighty God ! 
RolPd in a globe, the air sustain'd its weight; 
And all mankind declare the work is great : 
Yet greater still, O man ! the work must be 
Which made thy frame and granted life to thee ! 



114 THE PARENT. 

To birds and beasts He gave primeval birth, 
And male and female plac'd upon the earth. 
But oh ! to thee what greater power is given ! 
Form'd to enjoy the richest gifts of heav'n ! 

Parent of all above and all below ! 
Who of man's life dost every moment know ; 
Oh ! grant that all my earthly days may be 
In duty spent, and filial love to Thee ! 
When first to us Thou dost the light impart, 
Dear is the tie that links the parent's heart ! 

Behold the youthful mother in her child 
Admires the budding features fair and mild ; 
And seems the happiest of the human race, 
Enjoying smiles upon her infant's face; 
Or, watching by its bed, supremely blest 
To see the little creature sink to rest : 
Thus as it sleeps, joy, beaming in her eyes, 
To nature yields ; and whisp'ring soft she cries : 
" Who can e'er say that Hymen's sacred tie 
" Is not the happiest state beneath the sky? 
" While on the world my thoughts I ne'er employ 
"With thee, my child, what bliss I now enjoy! 



THE PARENT. 115 

" The blooming roses on thy lovely cheek, 

" So soft and blushing, innocent and meek; 

" That little form, those pretty sparkling eyes, 

" All fresh from nature, void of art's disguise; 

" Give more true pleasure to thy mother's mind 

" Than that vain world she has for thee resigned : 

" What joy to see thy sportive actions claim 

"Thy mother's love, and hear thee speak her name! 

"Thy father too delights to see thy ways; 

" Thou art the joy and cheerer of his days ! 

" If fickle fortune should appear unkind 

" He can in thee a tender solace find: 

" O lovely pledge of purest mutual love, 

" The heart-warm union register'd above ! 

" Dear infant ! may we long thy love engage — 

" Be thou our comfort in our helpless age." 



i2 



THE HARVEST STORM, 



FOUNDED ON FACT. 



WITH orient crimson face the early dawn 
Fresh o'er the mountain peep'd; as silver dew 

In countless drops hung trembling on the lawn, 
And scarce a breeze along the valley blew. 

The joyous farmer left his bed serene; 

And, gaily smiling o'er his ripen'd corn, 
Aroused the harvesters to view the scene, 

Their task commencing with the blushing morn. 



THE HARVEST STORM. 117 

Each sturdy peasant with elated breast, 

Around his loins the strength'ning kerchief plac'd ; 

Refresh' d by sound and salutary rest, 

Then blithesome to the ripened wheat-field pac'd. 

Brisk as they march'd along the grassy way 

With keg and satchel o'er their shoulders thrown, 

Nature's sweet music warbled from the spray, — 
The rising sun upon their sickles shone; 

And, warm exulting in each merry heart, 
The welcome of the happy group appears 

To this bright morn : when each begins his part 
To fell the wheat-ear drown'd in dewy tears. 

The leading captain flourishes the blade, 

Well-turn' d and glitt'ring, of his sickle bright ; 

And soon beneath his feet is prostrate laid 
The first-grasp'd handful, pleasing to the sight. 

The waiting partners in th' expected toil 

Now, one by one, low o'er the furrow bend; 

And soon with heat their swarthy faces broil : 
All seem for skill delighted to contend. 



118 THE HARVEST STORM. 

Now o'er his highest course had pass'd the sun, 
And yet bright beaming shed a fervid ray ; 

The reapers from refreshment had begun 
To tread again the pointed stubble way ; 

When, lo ! the azure sky became o'ercast ! 

Thick sable clouds with towering heads arose, 
Darkening the firmament ! a sudden blast 

Across the earth with dreadful impulse blows ! 

At distance yet the murm'ring thunder rolls, 
In frequent flash the tempest is foretold ; 

Far on the plain the storm thick gathering scowls, 
And drives the shepherd to the welcome fold. 

Where late the reapers dined, beneath the trees, 
For shelter in confusion they retire ; 

While on the rustling spray the chilly breeze 
Swells to a storm ; and solar beams expire ! 

And now the cloudy skies in darkness frown ! 

The show'r descending rattles thro' the boughs ; 
Pouring abundantly such torrents down 

The spreading oak a covering scarce allows ! 



THE HARVEST STORM. 119 

Ah ! fatal sheltering oak ! the shade of death ! 

Quickly the light'ning from the southern skies 
Assails the trunk; the leaning reaper's breath 

Is gone ! he falls, he falls, no more to rise ! 

His form a burnt disfigured corse displays ! 

The blackening sulphur searches ev'ry vein : 
Still flashing round the wildly quivering blaze 

Strikes the old oak, and tears the tree in twain ! 

Deeply lamented is the virtuous dead : 

He was his aged parent's only joy! 
His hands a father and a mother fed; 

Their comfort rested on his sole employ. 



WINTER. 



A RUSTIC SKETCH, 



TIS piercing cold ! — hark o'er the hill 
How keenly whistling blows the wind ! 

The chilling frost has lock'd the rill, 
And shiv'ring birds no shelter find. 

Yon lambs in summer skipt and play'd 
In gambols round the open fold; 

But now, along the hedge-row laid, 
They bleat and tremble with the cold. 



WINTER. 121 



With hands benumb'd the peasant-boy 
Trips down the slipp'ry frozen lanes ; 

Yet gay is he, and shews his joy 
That homely pleasure still remains. 

A masters frown he never sees, 
No harsh reproach he ever knows ; 

His rustic care can always please, 
And sweet at night he finds repose. 

How blest the farmer's winter eve ! 

How snug his chimney-corner seat ! 
His pipe and ale his cares relieve, 

And cheerful friends his welcome meet. 

And while he fills the cushion'd chair, 
As on its arms his elbows press, 

No weather-beaten traveller there 
In vain will shiver in distress. 

No starting conscience to repel, 
How peaceful is the life he lives ! 

The purest joys his bosom swell, 
And many a sprightly joke he gives. 



122 WINTER. 

Then how he sped in youthful days, 
What feats his sturdy arm has done ; 

How oft beneath the hottest rays 
The harvest wager he has won : 

He tells the tale, and then his brow 
Leans to his hand, in memory's aid; 

And past time seems as fresh as now 
In scenes that ne'er to him will fade. 

To those who form his ev'ning ring, 
And all his winter comforts share, 

His own experience proof can bring 
That wealth may come from early care. 

But, Winter ! yet the happiest scene 
Thy long dark evening e'er can see, 

Is, round the homely hearth swept clean, 
The sire with prattlers on his knee. 

Fresh smiles of either parent's love 
Each little action tries to gain ; 

And infant eloquence can move 
Where peace and love united reign. 



WINTER. 123 



Oh ! then how blest the happy pair ! 

Affection throbs the tender breast : 
The children lisp the artless pray'r, 

And bliss attends their humble rest. 



TRIBUTE OF AFFECTION. 



THE happiest hour that e'er I knew, 

The hour that gave me lasting joy, 
That prov'd my warm affection grew 

From virtues Time can ne'er destroy, 
Was on the dear, the blooming morn, 

That fill'd with love my youthful soul, 
When first my wandering feet were borne 

Towards the margin of the Mole.* 

* A river in the beautiful vale of Holmsdale in Surrey. 



A TRIBUTE OF AFFECTION. 125 



II. 



Ye scenes where oft I lov'd to stray 

And listen to the woodland song ! 
Ye scenes where through the sylvan way 

The silent river creeps along ! 
And thou, O long remembered vale ! 

That saw my evening's pensive stroll — 
Accept the heart that ne'er can fail 

To love the margin of the Mole ! 



III. 



For there, beside the copse's shade, 

Secure from vice's haggard eye, 
I found, in one dear rural maid, 

All I could wish beneath the sky. 
The tongue of nature spoke her truth 

As through the grove at eve we stole; 
And, blest with her, no happier youth 

E'er trod the margin of the Mole ! 



THE 



LOVERS OF THE GREEN 



A BALLAD. 



LOUDLY o'er the floods of Arun 
Winter blew the hollow blast; 

Wildly fell the snow, and drifted 
Where the trackless wand'rer past. 

Darkness reign'd o'er hill and valley, 
No unclouded star was seen, 

When the pensive lovers parted 
At the cottage on the green. 



THE LOVERS OF THE GREEN. 127 

Fears distress the tender maiden, 

As she sees the dismal gloom; 
For her fancy, in the prospect, 

Paints her love's benighted tomb. 

Vain her wishes to persuade him 

To await the rise of day ; 
Fear ne'er chill'd his manly bosom, 

Duty summons him away. 

Softly then she whisper'd blessings, 

Trembling as he left her sight : 
Pow'rs of Love ! O guard my Henry 

Thro' the dang'rous paths of night ! 

Farewell, Henry: O remember 

How I wish thee to forbear ! 
O remember, she who loves thee 

Still would keep thee in her care. 

Fear not, Mary, I shall wander 

From the well-known path, that leads 

O'er the bridge that strides the Arun, 
From the green and through the meads, 



128 THE LOVERS OF THE GREEN 

Now adieu, my bosom's treasure ! 

Henry said, with pensive mien : 
Yet he strove to cheer her spirits, 

Whistling as he cross'd the green. 

She was fix'd in fond attention 

To her lover's simple strain; 
Listening, 'till the wind's shrill murmur 

Told her list'ning was in vain. 

One deep sigh half rends her bosom, 
When her ear can catch no more; 

Fast the tears begau to trickle 
As she closed the cottage door. 

Once again her fancy hears him; 

To the threshold quick she flies : — 
Tis not he ! the wind but whistles, 

Swells, and rises, sinks, and dies ! 

Mary seeks the bed of sorrow, 
Not sweet gentle sleep to find, 

But to weep in lonely anguish — 
Yielding to her tortur'd mind. 



THE LOVERS OF THE GREEN. 129 

Now where strays the wand'ring lover 

Oh ! to tell the mournful tale ! 
He is wading, numb'd and shivering, 

Thro' the deeply-drifted vale ! 

All the dreary wild before him, 

Ev'ry gust of winter's breath, 
Seems to warn him, as he wanders, 

That he treads the path of death ! 

.Still he walks, with step uncertain, 

In the snow's deceptive way; 
While across the icy meadows 

Midnight leads him far astray. 

Gloomy is the hour ! half frozen 

Is poor Henry's trembling form ! 
Ceaseless flakes, around him flying, 

Thicken o'er him in the storm. 

Vital powers now seem to fail him, — 

Hope forsakes the darkening scene; 
And he wishes, vainly wishes, 

To regain the cottage green. 

K 



130 , THE LOVERS OF THE GREEN. 

Yet again sweet Hope, returning, 
Promised with her brightest smile, 

Quick to grant him rest and pleasure, 
All his struggles to beguile : 

For new raptures warm his bosom, 
Strengthening all his weary frame, 

When the cold benighted traveler 
Sees a cottage taper flame ! 

Joy now pictur'd dearest blessings : 
Oh ! my long- wished home ! he cries, 

Soon shall I regain thy comfort, 
Soon thy fire shall meet my eyes ! 

Hapless Henry! 'tis delusion! — 
Vain thy hopes, thy sweet delight; 

Home no more shall yield thee comfort- 
Home no more shall bless thy sight ! 

One more footstep — chilling horror ! 

One more step was Henry's grave ! 
Nought was heard but " O my Mary !" 

As he sank beneath the wave ! 



THE LOVERS OF THE GREEN. 131 

Wildly rising o'er the Arun, 

Loud the wind still whistled round; 
Loudly to the lover's cottage 

Bore a dismal troubled sound. 

Mary started from her pillow 

With affrighted sudden scream: 
Death has robb'd me of my Henry ! 

Oh ! I saw him in my dream ! 

Reason left the hapless maiden 

When the morn confirm'd her fears ; 
Henry's frozen corse distraction 

Bathed, in Mary's streaming tears. 

Now the lonely virgin straying 

Walks, in evening's darkest gloom, 
Where her faithful lover perish'd, — 

Warning travellers of his doom ! 



k 2 



LINES 



TO THE BEAUTIFUL INFANT LOUISA. 



DEAR little babe ! for thee should flow 
The sweetest tones of Nature's song, 

Could my weak strain aspire to glow 
With charms that to thy form belong. 

While on thy lovely cherub face 
Are smiling innocence and joy, 

Each infant feature's op'ning grace 
Shall thy fond mother's love employ. 



LINES. 133 

Tho' tiny limbs now shape thy frame, 

Such symmetry is there display'd, 
That thou may'st well the title claim 

Of beauteous little infant maid ! 

The budding roses on thy cheek, 

The brightness of thy dark blue eye, 
Thy future loveliness bespeak; 

And may thy roses never die ! 

Ah ! sweet Louisa ! when the years 

Of youth attend on beauty's smiles, 
Young innocence oft sheds the tears 

Produced by man's unfeeling wiles. 

O may thy parents guard thy bloom, 

And guide thee through the paths of truth ! 

And heav'n preserve thee from the tomb — 
The cruel tomb of beauteous youth! 



A COTTAGE PICTURE, 



DRAWN FROM LIFE. 



BESIDE the heath, array'd in purple vest, 
Where snowy flocks repose in noonday rest, 
Where wild-thyme scents the softly sighing gale 
That steals in whispers thro' the woodland vale; 
There stands a rural cottage, once the seat 
Of love, with peace and happiness replete ! 
There simple innocence, and rosy health, 
Felt joys superior to the joys of wealth ! 

The choir of Nature, that at morning strove 
To fill with harmony the neighboring grove, 
Whose notes so sweet the passenger beguile 
To pause, tho' hasty, on the shady stile ; 



A COTTAGE PICTURE. 135 

Ne'er knew less strife, or less of worldly care, 

Than the young husband and his partner fair, 

When hours domestic mark'd their youthful lot 

Beneath the roof of yonder rural cot. 

The name of parent, soon their mutual right, 

FilPd their congenial hearts with new delight; 

And none that e'er the sacred title knew, 

Or from its ties th' endearing comforts drew, 

Could feel more fervor or more heartfelt joy 

Than they, while watching o'er their blooming boy. 

The cheerful field that round the cottage spread, 

Tilled by the sire, supplied their daily bread; 

The tenderest mother, and the kindest wife 

That ever grac'd the artless village life, 

To pay his labour, and augment his bliss, 

At ev'ning met him smiling with a kiss : 

She lovM each lineament of joy to trace 

In the fond father's bright'ning ruddy face, 

As oft she plac'd, in love's enraptur'd glee, 

The infant pledge upon his sturdy knee. 

Then were they rich indeed — nor wish'd to know 

More wealth than love and industry bestow ; 

Or more true happiness than they could find 

In the pure, honest, and contented mind. 



136 A COTTAGE PICTURE. 

Thus lived the pair, and thus they hoped to live, 
Nor thought that man affliction e'er could give. 
Blest in their lot, and in each other blest, 
They rose to joy, and sank to happy rest; 
Strangers to vice, and free from pining cares, 
The world they knew not, nor its wily snares ; 
But pass'd with sweet simplicity the day, 
Nor dreamt misfortune mark'd them for her prey. 
Too soon, alas ! they learn in earth's dark vale 
Both innocence and industry may fail 
That aid, they promise at all times to yield, 
Against corroding want a guardian shield. 
Ingenuous pair ! how little did ye know 
The near approach of agonizing woe ! 
For who could e'er disturb, or bid to cease, 
The sacred hours of harmony and peace ? 
Who could so cruel, so unfeeling prove, 
To wound the bosom of connubial love ? 
Yes — such there are ! — and such arose to bring 
The dreariest winter on the peasant's spring, 
The spring of Hope, whose sweet enlivening power 
Promis'd to brighten every rising hour. 
Loss after loss their store to ruin doom'd; 
Their hearts in vain on friendly aid presum'd ; 



A COTTAGE PICTURE. 137 

The ruthless landlord of their little farm 
Seiz'd all their substance with oppression's arm ! 
A yeoman he, but of a churlish mind, 
With plenty bloated, and to merit blind, 
Was mark'd by fate the rod of pow'r to wield 
O'er the poor tiller of yon fav'rite field. 
The husband of the heart, the happy sire, 
JSTo more shall smiling trim the cottage fire ; 
The cot by his forefathers long enjoy'd, 
The soil that oft their sun-burnt hands employ'd, 
He now must leave — misfortune's hour is come, 
And he is torn from his parental home ! 
The deep mischances of a baleful year 
In vain he pleads, in honesty sincere ; — 
With his proud creditor no prayers prevail, 
Stern Avarice sends him to a loathsome jail ! 
O'ercome with grief, alternate sad and wild, 
His faithful partner clasps their only child ! 
Great is her woe — tears flowing ease her pain, 
He muses silent, scorning to complain : 
Yet ere he's dragg'd within the prison walls 
His kneeling partner thus on mercy calls : 
" O hear my pray'r ! O hear a wretched wife ! 
O spare the ruin of our blameless life ; 



138 A COTTAGE PICTURE. 

Release from misery the man I love, 
And let his honesty his safeguard prove ! 
Spare, spare my love— and let these eyes but see 
My once-blest husband smile again on me ! 
Smile as he did when peace his hours beguil'd, 
A happy sire exulting in his child ! 
O let this infant all our love repay ! 
And, as he travels thro' Life's thorny way, 
His sorrowing father let him ne'er distress ; 
But giant, O heav'n ! he still may live to bless 
That father, who, with heartfelt anguish faint, 
Struggles with sorrow, and disdains complaint ! " 

Then rising, in a flood of tears she prest 
Her living treasure fondled on her breast : 
" Should our lost guardian live, again to prove 
The peaceful joys of liberty and love, 
Kind providence may grant us still to see 
A recompense for all our woes, in thee; — 
May'st thou — but ah ! thy brief precarious life 
May end, ere time restores him to his wife ! " 

Her voice now falters, and deep sighs impart 
The secret workings of her troubled heart. 



A COTTAGE PICTURE. 139 

Tho* join'd by heav'n the woes of earth divide 
This hapless pair, calamitously tried ! 
Now Law's stern agents, in their ruthless course, 
From Love's weak arms their destin'd victim force. 
Pity in viewing seems their pangs to share, 
And to the tyrant cries aloud, " forbear! " 
In vain — for thus, in manhood's early bloom, 
The father finds a prison is his doom ! 
He bends in anguish o'er his weeping wife, 
And seems to linger on the verge of Life ; — 
" My infant child, torn from my bleeding heart, 
And must I too from thee — from thee depart ! 

darling cherub ! smile not thus on me — 
Alas ! who knows what trouble thou may'st see ! 
Be thou a stranger to misfortune's weight, 

And heav'n preserve thee from thy father's fate ! 
My days, confin'd from thee, can be but few — 

1 leave thee — O my wife, my child, adieu ! " 

He deeply sigh'd, and with suspended breath 
In parting seem'd to feel the pangs of death. 
The trembling wife, scarce knowing where she went, 
Then sat her down and gave her sorrows vent : 



140 A COTTAGE PICTURE, 

She wept aloud ; the infant, void of fear, 
Kiss'd her pale cheek, and caught the falling tear ; 
And when she saw his frantic sire depart, 
O how she pressed the darling to her heart! 
While he, half speaking, with a look so kind, 
Around her neck his little arms entwin'd. 
Could Avarice view the interesting scene, 
Yet stand unmov'd, and feel his mind serene? 
When the pale mother's piteous sigh confest 
The rending throbs that tore her troubled breast ; 
When she her last resource in frenzy tried, 
And plac'd her infant kneeling by her side ; 
Would he not then, not even then, relent? 
Not hear the pray'r that injur'd nature sent? 
Ah no ! — her pray'r, her fervent pray'r was vain ! 
The callous landlord felt not for her pain ! 
O Pity ! heav'nly pow'r ! thy gentle sway 
Ne'er thro' his bosom shot one soft'ning ray ! 
Thy lovely smile, so soothing and so meek, 
Ne'er grac'd his eye, or brighten'd on his cheek ! 
And thou O flatt'ring Hope ! whose force was felt 
By the poor weeping mother when she knelt; 
Thou too hast fled, like meteors of the air, 
And left her mind a prey to dark despair! 



A COTTAGE PICTURE. 141 

The captive pining in his dreary cell, 
On his lost home his thoughts for ever dwell ; — 
Tis yet a comfort, tho' with pain combin'd, 
A faithful partner of his woes to find; 
For, scorning freedom which he must not share, 
With him she breathes a prisons noxious air, 
Resolv'd no turns of fortune shall divide 
The duteous helpmate from a husband's side. 
Arm'd with the fortitude that love bestows 
Sublimely warm the female bosom glows ! 
But tho' to soothe each other's grief they pray 
Their health declines in visible decay; 
For his once ruddy cheek grew deadly pale 
As each sad hour their hopes of succour fail; 
Yet when his wife administer'd relief 
He smiPd on her, in hopes to hide his grief; 
But she beheld the languor of his eye, 
And saw the rose of health from prison fly : 
She inly mourn'd; and, like her partner, strove 
To keep her feelings from the eye of love ! 
For tho' she feign'd upon her mate to smile, 
And fondly hoped his trouble to beguile, 
She saw 'twas vain — and now her village bloom 
Turns in each feature to a sickly gloom ; 



142 A COTTAGE PICTURE. 

No longer could her fainting spirits know 
A wish for any fleeting joy below; 
Not ev'n her infant could her grief appease, 
Who on the bed of woe would sportive seize 
The stubborn straw, where low the parents lay, 
And whip the iron door in artless play. 
Her fortitude decreased in every sigh; 
And now the hapless couple pray'd to die ! 
Down their pale cheeks fast streams the bitter tear, 
As plaintive nature, in their infant dear, 
Looks its dumb eloquence, to hear them moan, 
And seems to say — don't leave me here alone ! 
Nature prevails — they form a worthier pray'r 
That heaven would still their lives in mercy spare ; 
Nor pray'd in vain, for heaven in pity smiled 
And saved their lives in mercy to their child. 

O could they hope their weary heads to raise, 
And live again in happy rural days ! 
To see the hours of peace and joy return! 
To feel their cheeks with health and pleasure burn! 
Again the sweets of liberty to know 
Where fresh'ning breezes o'er the meadows blow ! 



A COTTAGE PICTURE. 143 

Ah no ! they dare not hope, in all their prayers, 
That peaceful freedom can again be theirs : 
But sweet Beneficence, with heavenly power, 
Can burst in radiance thro' the darkest hour. 
See England's venerable king impart 
Thy smile, dear inmate of the feeling heart ! 
Behold the sovereign of Britannia's Isle, 
Rejoiced to see each subject wear a smile, 
With parent care extending o'er the land 
Relief to misery with an open hand ! * 
Long has he reign' d — and may the pow'r above 
Spare him much longer to his people's love ! 
The dungeon opens at his high behest, 
And joy rekindles in misfortune's breast! 
The poor relieved their loyal carols sing, 
And the freed captive glories in his king ! 

Now rise, O rise, ye faithful pair ! 

And leave your bed of straw ; 
Away, thou giant fiend, despair S 

Ye scenes of night withdraw ! 



* Alluding to His late Majesty's gift of ,£4,000 for the relief 
of persons confined for small debts, on the occasion of his arriving 
at the fiftieth year of his reign, October 25th, 1809 j when this poem 
was written* 



144 A COTTAGE PICTURE. 

O now no more complain 

Ye souls of feeling's glow ; 

Drive off corroding woe 
And taste of bliss again ! 

Rapture shall fill your hearts with joy 

Producing mental wealth; 
And happiness, without alloy, 

Shall bring returning health ! 

Happy mother ! happy wife ! 

Your infant sinks to rest — 

O press him to your breast 
And bid him wake to life ! 

Now freedom gladdens the reviving pair 

Who sank so lately into dark despair; 

In liberty they feel a mutual glow, 

Tho' penury yet seems a pow'rful foe ! 

Their favorite cottage in their tyrant's hand, 

They hope no more, their native nook of land ; 

Yet to that spot, whence all their pleasure sprung, 

Their spirits still in fond attachment clung; 

In sight of that they wish, by honest toil, 

To gain their bread, tho' banish'd from the soil. 



A COTTAGE PICTURE. 145 

Now, as with weary steps, their journey past, 

Their native hamlet spire they view at last, 

These tidings to their hearts strange impulse give — 

Their affluent enemy has ceas'd to live ! 

And, once a slighted object of his care, 

A widow'd daughter is his only heir. 

She too had once known want, her early life 

Made her a playmate to the peasant's wife, 

Who, kindling into hopes unknown before, 

An humble suppliant now seeks her door; 

Her new-gain'd plenty had not steePd her heart, 

The good she feels she wishes to impart; 

Pleas'd from unmerited distress to raise 

The lov'd companion of her youthful days. 

To joys undreamt behold her bounty lift 

Their happy spirits, by a gen'rous gift! 

The little residence, the fav'rite spot, 

Where once as tenants they had blest their lot, 

By happier tenure now she makes their own; 

Olad to o'erpay the woes their hearts had known. 

O joyful day ! the happiest in the life 

Of the poor peasant and his faithful wife ! 

What bliss, what warm enraptur'd bliss they feel, 

When, bow'd to earth, the grateful couple kneel, 



146 A COTTAGE PICTURE. 

Thank the high pow'r that bids their sorrows end, 
And call on heaven to bless their bounteous friend ! 

Now the rejoicing pair, reliev'd from fears, 
Pour out their feelings in a flood of tears ; 
And, with the infant partner of their lot, 
They seek their home — their mossy rural cot; 
Where once again they prove, devoid of strife, 
The health and comforts of a village life. 



EARLY AFFECTION. 



A SIMPLE TALE OF RURAL LIFE. 



INSPIRING Love! thy influence I sing, 
And my soul trembles with the trembling string! 

Offspring of nature ! by all hearts confest 
The sweetest inmate of the feeling breast, 
O who can tell how warm the earliest sigh ! 
How dear the language of the speaking eye, 
When the flush'd cheek betrays the charm of love, 
And broken words the soft confusion prove ! 

Behold an interesting youthful pair 
In young Orlando and Maria fair. 
O how celestial was the raptured thrill 
When silent love first came their hearts to fill ! 

l2 



148 EARLY AFFECTION. 

Nor shall the muse of tenderness forget 
Affection's feelings when the lovers met. 

Long had each known the other's virtuous fame. 
And each in childhood lov'd the other's name; 
For infancy, in nature's artless song, 
Bade pure affection to their hearts belong. 
But the gay hours, the careless hours, that pass'd 
O'er the young friends, now stole away so fast, 
That youth began to dawn with op'ning grace, 
And paint improving beauties on each face; 
When, mov'd reluctant to a distant vale, 
Orlando felt the purport of my tale — 
The pow'r of love ! for while they only knew 
The sweets of infancy, and moments flew 
On downy wings of innocence and joy, 
The blue-ey'd fairy and the sportive boy 
Tripp'd lightly o'er the green, by fancy led, 
To share the daisies that around them spread; 
And little thought, 'till duty bade them part, 
The tears of one could melt the other's heart ; 
Yet now they prove it, with the keenest pain, 
As each foretells they ne'er shall meet again. 
They part — and in the trying moment feel 



EARLY AFFECTION. 149 

The deep emotions parting can reveal 

To those, in whom such pure affection sighs 

As rooted friendship to the breast supplies. 

Month follow'd month, and year succeeded year, 
And the young friends in absence now appear 
To lose, thro' varied scenes of careless youth, 
The recollection of their childhood's truth ; 
But who can judge, or who can e'er decide, 
The rise or falling of the vital tide 
That warms the feeling bosom, form'd to prove 
The force of nature and the charms of love ! 
Health's richest bloom the virgin's cheek display'd, 
And young Orlando's arching brows betray'd 
The mind improv'd, the features that began 
To shew the first maturity of man ; 
When Life's uncertain incidents, and fate, 
That rules the motions of our earthly state, 
By their mysterious wonder-working power, 
Decreed that soon should rise the blissful hour 
For long suspended love to be reviv'd; 
And thus the fates the happy plan contriv'd : 
Orlando, guided by industrious thought, 
A place for worldly avocation sought, 



150 EARLY AFFECTION. 

And chance or fortune brought him to the spot 
(Tho' long neglected, ne'er to be forgot) 
Where liv'd Maria — and his wand'ring feet 
Bore him in rapture o'er the plain, to greet 
Each lov'd, each dear remember'd scene of joy 
Where he had play'd a little sportive boy. 
Ah ! here, he said, and said it with a sigh ? 
Ah ! here I once could ev'ry care defy ! 
Here smiling infancy, in artless play, 
Pass'd with sweet innocence the lively day ! 
Oft have I chased the insect o'er the green; 
Oft on this little hillock have I seen 
The daisies blow, and cull'd them as my prize ! 
But who, O who can tell if to these eyes 
A scene so dear its wonted joys will give? 
Ah ! no — 'tis doubtful yet, where now may live 
The lovely maid, the little fairy friend, 
Whose tender arm would always mine attend ! 
I feel my bosom throbbing, as I view 
The well-known spot where we together grew ; 
Each path, each mossy tree, can something find 
To bring past days and actions to my mind ; 
And all conspire to prove the maxim clear, 
That scenes of infancy are ever dear. 



EARLY AFFECTION. 151 

Mistaken youth ! thy mind indeed could dwell 
For ever on the scenes that serve to tell 
How deeply rooted is the tender tie, 
Whose strength so long an absence could defy ! 
Thy anxious bosom's palpitations prove 
The double charm of infancy and love ! 

The virtuous maid the pleasing tidings heard 
That her young friend his native vale preferr'd, 
And, as she heard, love sparkled in her eye, 
Blush'd on her cheek, and whisper'd in her sigh ! 
The sudden joy pervades her lovely frame, 
And proves long absence could not damp the flame 
That childhood's ardent memory had imprest 
On every tender fibre of her breast. 
She sigh'd — Orlando has forgot the maid 
Who joy'd to meet him in the grassy glade : 
Who join'd his walk, and shared his childish pain, 
Whene'er his little arm was stretch'd in vain, 
To reach (delicious with the silver dew) 
The tempting fruit that on the bramble grew. 
Yes ! now he has forgot the happy days 
When I, an infant, lov'd his infant. praise; 
He knows not that Maria loves him still;— 



152 EARLY AFFECTION. 

I kept the secret, and I ever will. 

Thus spoke Maria, — proving, like the youth, 

The sweet remembrance of their former truth : 

Yet not like him, impatient to impart 

The fond attachment cherish'd in her heart; 

The modest girl is resolute to keep 

Her bosom's secret in oblivion's sleep. 

Now young Orlando, by enquiry, knows 
That still enchanting blooms the lovely rose 
Within his native vale — he hopes to find 
The maid, yet doubts and fears perplex his mind. 
Oh ! that my dear Maria I may meet ! 
That I once more my fairy friend may greet ! 
I feel a ceaseless wish again to see 
The charming girl who once was dear to me ! 
He said — and each expression serv'd to shew 
That now he knew what only love can know. 
And here oh ! who can paint the blushing cheek 
In colours that to nature truly speak ! 
The lovers meet — but how may language tell 
The doubtful throbbings that each bosom swell ! 
They strive to speak, but words are half express'd ; 
The blush confesses some, and tears the rest. 



EARLY AFFECTION. 153 

He would indeed exclaim, with ardent voice, 

Friend of my happiest moments, I rejoice ! 

But feeling's magic o'er each accent shed 

Such plaintive tones, that half the sentence fled, — 

Or died away in rising from the breast 

That more and more the pow'r of love confess'd ! 

They talk, enraptur'd, of the days that flew 

O'er their young minds when they together grew ; 

And each believes that friendship's gentle name 

Bids them revive their childhood's artless flame ; — 

Nor can they see, tho' all their looks declare, 

That Love receives them to his special care. 

Again they part — and now Maria goes 

To seek (how vain !) her wonted night's repose : 

He all in tremor, when she leaves his sight, 

Bids, as she parts, the trembling girl good night. 

Nature, with sacred force, inspir'd his soul ! 

He could not leave her, but he gently stole 

With silent step behind her as she stray'd, 

And clasp'd his hands, and bless'd the lovely maid, 

When through the air of listening eve he caught 

The sweet soliloquy that Love had taught. 

The timid wand'rer little thought her love 

Was heard by any but the silent grove, 



154 EARLY AFFECTION. 

That seem'd attentive to her tender tale ; 

For stillness reign'd along the happy vale. 

Yes ! lovely girl, thy virtuous open mind, 

That now to thy Orlando more inclin'd, 

Was known to him who causM thy doubtful pain, 

Who met thee on thy native dewy plain, 

And left thee thus thy lonely lay to sing 

With anxious fears too apt from love to spring. 

He heard — he sigh'd — he bless'd the plaintive tongue 

That spoke so soft the verdant dale along; 

Yet could he now approach? the musing maid 

Had thought him far from where she lonely strayed, 

-And he could not, tho' told by lier sweet tone 

Of chiding love, she should not be alone, 

He could not speak for shame — he dared not speak 

Tho' love, hope, truth, and rapture, warm'd his cheek. 

His breast with ev'ry virtuous passion glow'd; 

And while his ardent pray'r sincerely flow'd 

For her protection, many a vow he made 

In fervent whisper by the woodland shade, 

That from this very hour his swelling heart 

To her alone its feelings should impart. 

A child of nature, with a heart of truth, 

He little knew that ev'n a titled youth, 



EARLY AFFECTION. 155 

Of education and of manners higher 
Than young Orlando ever could aspire, 
Could basely watch her thro' the nightly shade, 
Her peace with guilty passions to invade; 
But heaven now sent him her surprize to share, 
And shine the guardian of the lonely fair. 

The pensive maiden reach 'd the dreary lane 
That join'd the border of the open plain, 
And lightly trod along the grassy edge : 
Each bird or reptile rustling in the hedge 
Alarms her timid mind — for now 'tis grown 
The ev'ning's darkest hour and she's alone ! 
Secluded by an overshading bough, 
That scarcely room for passage will allow, 
Stands a low stile the rural lane beside ; 
Whence on a sudden, with a guilty stride, 
Sprang a base mortal, made in fashion's mould, 
Who sought the young Maria to unfold 
His guileful vows of long pretended love. 
He swore, " by all the sacred pow'rs above," 
That nought but truth to him should e'er belong, 
That truth alone then dwelt upon his tongue. 
But, while he boasted of a spotless flame, 



156 EARLY AFFECTION. 

He seiz'd with ruffian grasp her trembling frame ! 

She shriek'd in terror ; — at the fearful sound 

See quick Orlando to her rescue bound ! 

Now manly vengeance, in a hasty strife, 

Might have deprived the insulting wretch of life, 

But guilt and fear forbade him to withstand 

The storm that threaten'd from a braver hand : 

Rapid he fled — Orlando's tender care 

Soon rais'd to peace the palpitating fair. 

She hears his voice with joy and sweet surprise, 

While tears of gratitude bedew her eyes ; 

And now, recovering in virtue's arms, 

She feels with love no cause for more alarms. 

" O how, Orlando, came you now so near? 

What gracious pow'r made you my guardian here ? 

" I feel 'twas Heav'n, who, friendly to my life, 

Sent me to save in thee my destin'd wife ! 

I should have led thee to thy place of rest, 

Proud to attend thee as thy guard profess'd, 

But fear'd thy modest spirit to alarm 

That deem'd thy innocence secure from harm." 
The lovely girl, whose agitated mind 
Now gain'd its wonted firmness, stood reclin'd 
On her protector ; and the sweetest gale 



EARLY AFFECTION. 157 

That ever breath'd at mom along the vale, 

Could not so soft, or with such sweetness rise, 

As her enchanted bosom's answering sighs 

When young Orlando press'd his eager claim 

Of love revived, and own'd a virtuous flame ! 

Yes ! (she exclaim'd) it surely is decreed 

That these events our happier fate precede; 

That we shall yet enjoy, in days of youth, 

The blest reward of infant love and truth : 

Come then, Orlando, freely I entwine 

Our arms again, and fold thy hand in mine; 

I know thy worth, I know thy feeling heart, 

And mine shall beat for thee till death the tie shall part ! 

O thou whose smiling eye may read the lay 
Unskill'd the scenes of feeling to display ! 
Say, did thy youthful bosom ever know 
The glowing throbs that rise — and ebb — and flow, 
When truth shakes off timidity's controul, 
And fills with hope and rapture all the soul ? 
And did the gentle object of thy care, 
With every virtue form'd, her love declare ? 
Did she with generous open mind impart 
The tender tumults of a female heart,— 



158 EARLY AFFECTION. 

Sink on thy bosom with confession free, 
And nobly dedicate her life to thee? 
If thou hast known all this, O then excuse 
The faint description of an artless muse ! 
And judge, when first the young Orlando heard 
Himself Maria's chosen lord preferred, 
What grateful feelings in his bosom grew ! 
What blissful visions burst upon his view ! 

Soon sacred union join'd the faithful pair, 
Eas'd their fond hearts of ev'ry anxious care; 
And gave enjoyments of the purest kind 
That happiest wedded love can ever find. 
They see again sweet childhood's lovely day 
In their own children that around them play ; 
Thro' years acknowledging to pow'rs above 
The first-rate blessing of unfading love ! 



MY NATIVE HILL. 



LET greater poets seize the lyre 

And raptur'd strike with nervous hand ,* 
Diffusing patriotic fire 

Around old Albion's favor'd land: 
Tho' my weak strain can ne'er aspire 

Such warm emotions to instil, 
I love my country — and admire 

With glowing heart my native hill ! 



160 MY NATIVE HILL. 



II. 



Let others, favor'd of the muse, 

Tell of the battles nobly won ; 
Tell to the list'ning world the news 

Of feats by British warriors done ; 
I hear with awe — yet, as the dews 

Descending to the sylvan rill, 
Soft be the song that shall infuse 

Affection for my native hill. 



III. 

Sweet is the prospect far and wide 

That spreads the winding vales around, 
Where cool refreshing waters glide 

With pointed sedge and alders crown'd ; 
And, gazing still on ev'ry side, 

The cot, the farm, the rural mill, 
And the blue gleaming ocean tide, 

Are seen from off my native hill. 



EXTEMPORARY STANZAS 



WRITTEN IN CHINGFORD CHURCH YARD, WHILE IN COMPANY 
WITH A PARTY OF YOUNG FRIENDS. 



1813. 



SCENE of enchantment! wide around 

The lovely vale extends; 
The whisp'ring breeze, with gentle sound, 

Its cheerful welcome sends. 

O who with feeling here can gaze, 
Who view great Nature's pow'r, — 

And deem, as carelessly he strays, 
Unblest the happy hour? 



168 EXTEMPORARY STANZAS. 

If such there be, I envy not 

The workings of his mind ; 
For certain misery is his lot — 

An outcast of mankind. 

But here, O grateful is my heart ! 

Here is the scene of love ! 
Here, far retired, I would impart 

My soul to Him above ! 

Here, bounteous Father ! would I kneel 

In thankfulness and joy ! 
And oh ! to utter what I feel 

Do thou my tongue employ ! 

I feel, I see, thy boundless care 

To all thy creatures here ! 
Raptures divine inspire the air, 

And prompt the silent tear. 

O God ! accept my humble praise 

For ev'ry blessing giVn; 
And, while upon thy works I gaze, 

O bear my soul to Heav'n ! 



EXTEMPORARY STANZAS. 169 

Delightful hour ! I'll ne'er forget 

The sweet sequester'd grove 
Where now the truest hearts have met 

In friendship and in love ! 



TO 



MISS M. A. GARMAN. 



1813. 



O Mary ! I shall ne'er forget 
The scene that I rejoiced to see, 

Where mutual hearts in friendship met 
For one delightful day with thee. 

Sweet was the scene, and ever dear 
Shall be remembrance of the hour, 

When Gratitude and Joy sincere 
Inspired me with united pow'r. 



TO MISS GARMAN. 171 

Sweet was the scene ! the ruralfspot 

A thousand lovely objects found, 
The woody vale, the simple cot, 

Displayed their artless beauties round. 

Raised by the ancient hand of Time 

Around the church green ivy grew, 
And rapture spoke in breathing rhyme 

When Chingford burst upon my view. 

Sweet Truth and happy Love were there ! 

A pair to ev'ry good inclined 
Made the fair prospect doubly fair — 

And gave new pleasure to my mind. 

Hail dear celestial true delight ! 

Thou richest inmate of the breast ! 
With thee, 'till death shall close the sight, 

Be Mary and her Lover blest ! 

O Mary! I shall ne'er forget 

The scene that I rejoiced to see, 
Where mutual hearts in Friendship met 

For one delightful day with thee. 



THE 



POET'S INVITATION TO A FRIEND. 



WRITTEN IN 1812. 



O come to my Cottage ! tho' humble its door 

The welcome within will proceed from the heart; 

My home is your own — and, tho' scanty my store, 
I'm ever most happy when you have a part. 

O come to my Cottage ! the flourishing vine 

Peeps in at the window and waves with the breeze ; 

The rich purple grape shall be sparkling in wine, 
And all homely comforts united shall please. 



THE POET'S INVITATION. 173 

O come to my Cottage ! the myrtle shall smile, 
Tho' wanting the valley, the fountain, the glade, — 

And here shall sweet converse the moments beguile, 
And Lilac shall lend us a cool silent shade. 

O come to my Cottage! the favorite song 

Of childhood, shall join with the tale of your friend; 

And Friendship shall tell you what raptures belong 
To those who to virtues domestic attend. 

O come to my Cottage ! and here you will find 
The Poet surrounded with conjugal bliss ; 

The wife of his bosom, so tender and kind, 
With smiles of affection deserving a kiss ! — 

O come to my Cottage ! beneath its low roof 
My little ones prattle and climb on my knee ; 

Three pledges of love we produce, as a proof 
That happiness smiles upon Mary and me. 

O come to my Cottage and share in my joy! 

Inspired by your presence that joy will encrease; 
And while we have health surely nought can destroy 

The blessings of humble Contentment and Peace ! 



EDWIN AND ELLEN, 



A BALLAD. 



IN childhood's days, all joy and mirth, 
When playful mates upon the green, 

Just rising from the parent earth 

Like early flow'rs in climes serene, — 

Edwin and Ellen learnt to love : 
For oft when sporting time away, 

Young Edwin would the maid approve, 
And spend with her the summer day. 



EDWIN AND ELLEN. 175 

Oft in the glade's recess he found 

Sweet violets shew their purple hue, 
Then, strewing them upon the ground, 

Cried " Ellen dear they're all for you." 

And all the wild-flow'rs of the field, 

Fresh peeping up among the grass, 
Which to his eager hands would yield, 

Were always welcome to the lass. 

Oh ! she was artless as the dove, 

As kind and gentle to her swain : 
And when the youth first told his love 

Confess'd she felt the pleasing pain. 

But while in youth's delightful bloom, 
Fresh as the morn that gilds the trees, 

Poor Edwin left his native home, 
The vocal grove and healthy breeze. 

For he was doom'd by fate's decree 

(While Ellen's tears his lot deplore) 
To sail across the dang'rous sea, 

And seek Barbadoes' distant shore : 



176 EDWIN AND ELLEN. 

There thro' the long and sultry day, 
On the green hill or in the dale, 

His joyless hours to pass away 
As languid as the ev'ning gale. 

Ye happy days ! when first my breast 
Was warm'd by the celestial flame; 

When Ellen first her love confess'd, 
And I with rapture heard her name : 

Oh ! that ye would again appear, 

And bring me safe to that dear scene 

Where mutual love and truth sincere 
Went hand in hand upon the green ! 

While here those scenes I never see 
I waste my days in silent woe; 

Alas ! my Ellen's far from me, 

Nor does she half my sorrows know ! 

Thus while the pensive youth complains, 
Fainting beneath the fervid ray, 

Mild England still the maid detains; 
Who sighs for Edwin far away. 



EDWIN AND ELLEN. 177 

Anxious in doubt and fear she lives 

Lest her lov'd swain untrue should prove ; 

Tho' ev'ry dear epistle gives 

Fresh proof of his unceasing love. 

So oft she hears of faithless youth 

And cancell'd vows that seem'd so fast, 

Edwin must have no common truth 
If his can undiminish'd last : 

For many years had slowly flown 

Since first their bosoms felt the glow ; 

And she had many suitors known; 
But yet from Edwin ne'er would go. 

For love and truth her heart was made, 

And these to him she parting gave; 
Nor would she e'er from him have strayed, 

But kept her vows ev'n to the grave. 

At length when absent seven years 

They from each other's sight had been, 

A gleam of hope again appears 
Of meeting in love's tender scene. 

N 



178 EDWIN AND ELLEN. 

How joyous is the breast sincere 
When newly-waken'd hope revives; 

Yet hope oft yields to timid fear 
Till the blest interview arrives. 

Swift fly the hours — the happy day 
Has crown'd th' affection of the pair; 

And they again are blithe and gay 
As hearts relieved from earthly care. 



SONNET TO GRATITUDE. 



INSCRIBED TO A FRIEND. 



SWEET Gratitude ! to thee I bend 

Celestial pow'r ! the trembling knee ; 
Accept my verse, and O attend 

Its warmest humblest pray'r to thee ! 
Till love shall cease to thrill my frame, 

Till my heart-stream shall cease to flow, 
O let me feel thy heav'nly flame; 

And ev'ry throb for thee shall glow. 
Come, duteous prompter of the lay ! 

And with each ardent wish entwine 
That friendship claims, or love can pay, 

While life and language still are mine. 
When friendship claims my song, O ne'er refuse 
The fostering guardian of my rural- muse ! 



THE 

YOUNG LOVER TO HIS HEART. 

WRITIEN AT THE AGE OF SIXTEEN, AND PRESERVED IN RE- 
MEMBRANCE OF THE AUTHOR^ HAPPIEST DAYS. 



LIE still, thou little trembling thing ! 

Lie still, and take thy quiet rest; 
Oh! dost thou feel of love the sting? 

Why thus disturb my guiltless breast? 
Alas ! my heart, thy throbbing all is vain, 
For Mary^s love will bless another swain ! 

Whene'er the blushing maid I meet, 
And catch the glancing of her eye, 

Why, then, dost thou enraptured beat? 
Why, fluttering stop the rising sigh? 

Alas ! my heart, thy throbbing all is vain, 

For, scorning thee, she loves another swain ! 



THE YOUNG LOVER TO HIS HEART. 183 

CoulcPst thou but seek her gentle breast, 

(The emblem of the turtle dove !) 
Tell her 'tis she disturbs thy rest, 

And oh ! convince her how I love ! 
Sure her dear bosom, pure as winter's snow, 
Was never made to give another pain ; 
But if she scorns, then cease, my heart, to glow — 
Nor pine for her who loves another swain. 



A BALLAD, 



SWEET bird ! that in the lonely thorn 
So softly pour'st thy soothing lay, 
While shaking from the glitt'ring spray 

The brightest pearls of early morn ! 

Say, does thy song, that charms the grove, 
Breathe warmly from a wounded heart, 
Whose tones pathetic can impart 

The tale of unrequited love? 



A BALLAD. 185 



Then lend thy plaintive note to me ; 
And let a virgin's timid breast 
With nature's pathos be possess'd, — 

To charm as I am charm'd by thee ! 

For O sweet bird ! the graceful youth 
Who won this throbbing heart of mine, 
Now here has left me to repine, 

And changed for gold the soul of truth. 

Alas ! he leaves the faithful maid 
Who still in his dear image lives ! 
He smiles on me, and smiling gives 

His hand to one in wealth array'd. 

And can he ever happy feel? 

And can he love the haughty fair ? 

When he beholds me in despair 
Will sighs not from his bosom steal ? 

O yes ! to me he knows how dear 
Is he who won my youthful heart; 
And never, never can depart 

From what he fondly promis'd here ! 



186 A BALLAD, 

Beneath this very thorn he vow'd 
That only I should share his love 
While trembling leaves our heads above 

I thought in witness gently bowM ! 

Go, then, ye bosom-rending fears ! 

My love is surely, surely true ! 

And if he is — O then adieu 
For ever, all ye trickling tears ! 

He is ! for o'er yon meadow see 
Again he comes to bless my sight ! 
Again his eyes, in sparkles bright, 

So sweetly tell he loves but me ! 



MARY'S COMPLAINT. 



AN ELEGIAC BALLAD. 



O come weeping willow ! encircle my head, 
Companion in grief! all my pleasure is fled, 

I never shall see him again : 
The youth of my bosom for ever is gone ; 
No more can I rest, but with morn's early dawn 

To you, drooping willow, complain. 

When lately I roam'd from the straw-cover'd cot — 
How light was my heart ! and how happy my lot ! 

For William, who lov'd me, was there ; 
But now he is dead, and bewilder'd I range, 
My cheeks pale with sorrow lamenting the change, 

I sink in the arms of despair ! 



188 MARY's complaint. 



No more on the hill, or the daisy-clad green, 
Shall I arm in arm with my William be seen 

To join the young folks of the vale ; 
No more down the mead or the sweet-scented grove, 
Where once with the youth I delighted to rove, 

Shall Mary partake the soft gale. 



Ah no ! those sweet pleasures for ever are past, 
Tho' I hapless I, fondly hoped they would last, 

While both pledg'd our love's sacred truth ; 
Sure no one like me ever knew love so pure, 
No young virgin's breast can such sorrow endure 

As mine for the loss of my youth. 



Oh ! come, welcome death, kindly ease my sad heart; 
Let yours be united with love's purple dart, 

And take me in Life's early bloom : 
When death, O ye virgins ! has heal'd my heart-wound, 
Lay me by my William within the dark ground; 

Let our ashes repose in one tomb. 



ELEGY 



ON THE DEATH OF A GOLDFINCH, 



YE little warblers ! to his bier 
O swiftly wing your airy way; 

His fate shall claim the gentle tear, 
While softly swells the mournful lay ! 

Come tune for him your sweetest notes !• 
Trill all the trembling air around; 

But O among your tuneful throats 
Not one like his can e'er be found ! 



190 AN ELEGY. 

How soft he'd pour the tender song ! 

What sweetly-soothing tones employ ! 
How loudly shake the strain along ! 

And rouse the startled ear to joy ! 

His mistress, charm'd to hear the note 
That seem'd to speak a plaintive heart, 

To him would pitying care devote, 
And in his sorrow claim a part. 

And when her scarlet-hooded friend 
His sprightlier minstrelsy pursued, 

Her sympathy would still attend, 

And cherish him with praise and food. 

With him, her only constant guest, 
She pass'd the ling'ring hours away; 

Perch'd on her hand he'd gently rest, 
Or round his wiry prison play. 

But ah ! the charming song is o'er ! 

With him the mellow music fled; 
Affection's friend is now no more ! 

The little sportive bird is dead ! 



AN ELEGY. 191 



Come then, ye warblers ! to his bier 
O swiftly wing your airy way ! 

His fate shall claim the gentle tear, 
While softly swells the mournful lay. 



THE PARTING. 



ADDRESSED TO MRS. H. WHILE IN THE COUNTRY. 



THOU faithful partner of my varied life ! 

Source of each comfort, ev'ry wealth, to me ! 
While absent from thee, my well-chosen wife, 

Breathing with love my verse would flow to thee. 

How sank my heart when leaving thee behind ! 

How slow my feet receded from thy view ! 
Tho' short my absence, yet I joyless find 

The pensive hours that follow thy adieu. 



THE PARTING. 193 

I left thee — but I wand'ring turn'd and gazed 
As o'er the grassy heath I took my way ; 

I stray'd in sadness, while around me grazed 
The happy herd, and ev'ry hedge was gay ! 

The wildest music warbled on the plain — 
The wildest music charm'd the leafy grove; 

My favorite scene I view'd, yet could not gain 
The smile of mirth, for I had left my love. 

My infant prattler and my darling boy, 
I left them too, safe in a mother's care ; 

One spoke her blessing — one, in artless joy, 
Smiled as he waved his little hand in air! 

O the warm rapture that a father feels 

When smiled on by his little blooming throng ! 

Blest with a partner whose affection steals 
Soft on his soul ; what joys to him belong ! 



ODE TO THE MOON. 



I. 



THOU silver moon! whose bright and lovely ray 

In softest lustre decks the distant spire; 
While thro' the sky thou bear'st thy lofty way 
I walk and gaze — and gazing I admire. 
Sweet is the hour 
When thy mild pow'r 
Smiles from the heaVns, to bid the world retire, 
And lull to rest each care, each vain desire ! 



ODE TO THE MOON. 195 



II. 



O let me wander when the busy crowd 

Have left my path to contemplation free : 
When the high firmament's without a cloud, 
O beauteous object! I would muse on thee. 
Thy azure throne, 
Thy sparkling zone, 
Bore silent witness when by thee I vow'd 
The truth of love — and pour'd my soul aloud. 



III. 



When Solitude, by Arun's rural stream, 

Enticed my infant footsteps to the shade, 
Enchanted I beheld thy radiant beam, 

While dancing on the glittering wave it play'd, 
Thy cloudless orb 
Would oft absorb 
My ardent soul, for lonely musing made, 
And raise in me new wonder as I stray'd ! 

o2 



196 ODE TO THE MOON. 



IV. 



Twas then Reflection mark'd my ev'ning hour ; 

The music of the vales had charmed my heart ; 
And ripening Thought began, with heav'nly pow'r, 

To rouse my mind, and rays of truth impart. 



Gazing on thee 



I trod the lea 
With step unequal, and with glowing breast 
I worshipp'd Nature in thy beauties dress'd ! 



How lovely is the scene when thy soft light 
Reflects upon the mountain and the plain! 
When first thy rising form, in splendour bright, 
Appears surrounded by thy dazzling train ! 
The cheerful breeze 
That waves the trees 
To Fancy's ear in whisper seems to say 
" Behold the moon! — ye stars, prepare the way!" 



ODE TO THE MOON. 197 



VI. 



Majestic soaring o'er the clouds of Eve, 
Smiling in glory from thy silver bow, 
Thou reign'st the Queen of Night! — O let me leave 
The thousand cares that vex the soul below, 
And by thy ray 
In artless lay 
Speak from my heart the feelings only known 
To such as love to meditate alone ! 



VII, 



Now Labour rests ; — along the sylvan dale 

No more the warbler cheers the peasant's way; 
No more deep lowings fill the swelling gale — 
And hush'd are all the tumults of the day. 
Sweet Silence reigns ! — 
The hills and plains 
Thro' Night's transparent veil, with smiling look, 
Invite me forth to study Nature's book ! 



198 ODE TO THE MOON, 



VIII. 

And O what human art can ever raise 

To such sublimity the pow'r of speech I 
What human tongue, that speaks but human praise, 
Like Heaven's own voice the ardent mind can teach ! 
What earthly thought, 
With Learning fraught, 
Can give conviction to the feeling breast 
Like Heaven's own page that shews how man is bless'd ! 



IX. 



The boundless pow'r of Him who made the earth 

Fills with astonishment the wand'ring eye : 
To thee, O Queen of Night ! he granted birth, 
And placed the millions twinkling in the sky ! 
In vain I seek 
For words, to speak 
The gratitude I feel for blessings giv'n : 
But silent gratitude ascends to heav'n ! 



ODE TO THE MOON. 199 



X. 



When foaming billows rock the sailing bark, 

And Night has drawn her curtain o'er the sea, 
When clouds and waves unite, and all is dark — 
Bright Moon ! how ardent is the pray'r for thee ! 
The Seaman sighs — 
And strains his eyes 
To gain one glimpse of thy inspiring light, 
That bids him smile amid the gloom of night! 



XI. 



When the lost Traveller on the mountain side 

Has wander'd lonely, fearful of his tread, 
And wild Uncertainty, his faithless guide, 

Leads him where darkness is around him spread ! 
The Traveller sighs — 
And strains his eyes 
To gain one glimpse of thy inspiring light, 
That bids him smile amid the gloom of night ! 



200 ODE TO THE MOON 



XII. 



Thy welcome aid from rocks the bark may save; 

Prom rocks that break the rolling midnight surge ; 
Thy light may guide the Traveller from the grave 
Of some deep cliff beneath the mountain's verge: 
O heavenly ray ! 
Thy lofty way 
While thus thou bear'st upon thy throne of fire — 
I ponder on my God, and all his works admire I 



TO 



A YOUNG LADY, 



ON ST. VALENTINE'S DAY. 



WHILE this auspicious morn the tender swain, 
And many a simpleton in folly's train, 
As custom prompts, endite the motley lay, 
And maids in yearly sighs their minds display ; 
Accept, dear girl, what truth presumes to send— 
The cordial blessing of an absent friend ! 

I offer not a flattering paltry heart, 
Choosing this day its falsehood to impart ; 
I come not swearing thou art most divine 
Because— it is the day of valentine ! 



202 TO A YOUNG LADY. 

No — sacred friendship bids me court the muse, 
And who her gentle mandate can refuse? 
I, who have learnt her impulse to revere, 
And oft have shed for her the streaming tear, 
Thus of my soul the guileless warmth declare, — 
And by her dictates form my ardent pray'r : 
May purest innocence divinely spread 
Her heav'nly radiance round thy youthful head, — 
Guide all thy wishes, all thy thoughts direct, 
And thro' long years thy feeling mind protect: 
And may each rising hour that meets thy view 
Still bring thee blessings ever sweet and new ! 
Shew thee what joys from true affection flow, 
And tranquil lustre on thy life bestow ! 
And may — but can expression more supply? 
I wish thee ev^ry good beneath the sky ! 
And when from earthly scenes thou shalt remove 
May heaven exalt thee to eternal love ! 



EPITAPH 



ON A VERY OLD CAT. 



SHELTERED by this mossy wall, 
Beneath its rugged stones ; 

Mouldering, like the leaves that fall, 
Lie poor old puss's bones. 

Ah ! poor old puss ! thy glass is run, 
And Life's with thee no more ; 

Its lengthen'd thread, unbroken, spun 
Thy years almost a score ! 



204 EPITAPH. 

While sleeping by the parlour fire 

Cold winter to assuage, 
Thy mistress oft would thee admire, 

And tell thy wond'rous age. 

Then little Miss, with hand snow-white, 

Would stroke thy glossy fur; 
" Poor puss !" she'd cry, " thou'rt my delight !" 

And smile to hear thee purr. 

A sportive kitten thou hast play'd — 

Thy tortoise coat look'd gay; 
But now, in endless silence laid, 

No more thou'rt purr or play. 

And can we e'er that friend forget 

Who long has faithful been? 
No, poor old puss ! 'tis with regret 

We see thee end the scene. 



EPITAPH 



ON AN OLD HORSE. 



UNHALLOWD grass springs o'er the grave 
Where poor old Dobbin rests in peace : 

He liv'd to man a faithful slave, 

But here his worth and labour cease. 

The green turf, that now shrouds his head, 
He closely cropt, from year to year; 

And oft, in age a welcome bed, 

His toil-strain'd limbs have rested here. 



206 EPITAPH. 

Up yonder field the heavy plough 

He dragg'd with pain and panting breath; 

And great his loss whose service now 
His master mourns, low laid in death. 



DIAMOND'S GRAVE, 



A PASTORAL ELEGY 



ON THE DEATH OF A FAVORITE MARE BELONGING TO THE 
AUTHOR'S FATHER. 



WHILE genius bids the fervid lyre 
Immortalize the great — the brave — ■ 

I weave the simple willow wreath 
O'er faithful Diamond's rural grave. 

And why should merit die unknown ? 

Or why unsung depart from earth ? 
Ev'n tho' it live but in a beast 

Applause is due to humble worth. 



208 diamond's grave. 

Bright star of genius! deathless Burns ! 

Could thy warm fire breathe thro' my tale — 
Could thy wild woodland numbers flow, 

To charm the silent listening vale ! 

O then would polish'd Feeling deign 
To seek thy sylvan mossy shade, 

Beneath the friendly shelt'ring oak 

Where Diamond's mould'ring bones are laid, 

And sweet Simplicity would weep 
The good old servant's hapless fate, 

Who many a year has labored hard 
To ease alike the poor and great. 

One wintry eve, the hour was dark, — 
The wind blew loud and wildly round, — 

And all that stray'd beneath the storm 
TravelFd with fear on dangerous ground : 

'Twas then poor Diamond was abroad, 
And drew a load of ponderous weight, — 

When lo ! it fell ! and, crushed at once, 

She groan'd beneath the blow of fate ! 



diamond's grave. 209 

No beast was more sincerely mourn'd 

That ever cropt the meadow grass ; 
For none, in her good master's mind, 

Could e'er her gentle worth surpass. 

Ye brooks ! where oft she grazing stray'd, 

Ere nature's tender bonds were torn ; 
Where the sleek colt, unknown to toil, 

Oft startled at the huntsman's horn ; 

In silence o'er their sandy bed 

O softly steal your streams along ! 
And steep the drooping margin grass 

In tears for her who claims my song ! 

Ye simple daisies ! sprinkled o'er 

The infant mountain of the mole ; 
Ye golden flow'rs ! that on the green 

So oft have pleased the sprightly foal ; 

When Morning wakes the cheerful grove, — 
When Evening's sable shades appear, — 

Then give, ye flow'rs ! what men refuse — 
The meed of genuine Nature's tear ! 

p 



TO 



THE FIRST ROSEBUD, 



LOVELY blushing child of Spring ! 

Pleased I hail thy welcome birth ; 
Soon shall Zephyr's gentle wing 

Bear thy sweetness o'er the earth. 

Soon thy beauty shall extend 
Wide around thy op'ning form ; 

And thy leaves a shelter lend, 
To protect thee from the storm* 



TO THE FIRST ROSEBUD. 211 

But I fear, my lovely rose ! 

Lest thy tender timid flow'r 
Court the breeze that gently blows 

Perfumed by thy fragrant pow'r ; 

And in yielding to the breeze, 

Still improving every grace, 
Thou some raptured eye may^st please 

That will snatch thee from thy place ! 

Then, O then thy beauty falls ! 

Then thy charms will soon decay ! 
From the tree's parental walls 

All thy sweetness dies away ! 

Thus the blooming village maid, 

Won by Flatt'ry's sparkling eye, 
Leaves her happy native shade — 

Doom'd, sweet flow'r ! to droop and die. 



p2 



REFLECTIONS 



ON RECEIVING A PICTURE BEQUEATHED TO ME BY MR. HAYLEY 
AS A MEMORIAL OF HIS FRIENDSHIP. 



WELCOME to me, dear gift of his regard! 
And I receive thee, silent Visitant ! 
With joy and sorrow struggling in my heart : — 
For thou remind'st me of the friend I've lost ! 

Ah ! thou art come but to a lowly place ! 
Where is the classic hand that lately spread 
Around thee all the elegance of taste? 
That hand, which oft so warmly press'd my own, 
Is mould'ring in the cold and darksome tomb ! 
And now for ever, on the scenes of earth, 
Closed are those eyes which often look'd on thee 
With lively pleasure, while he spoke thy praise ! 



REFLECTIONS. 213 

All— all is silent now! — The very wall 
Whereon thy pleasing form was wont to hang 
Now seems to mourn in speechless eloquence. 
That lovely spot, so late his favorite scene, 
Where gloomy stillness reigns both night and day, 
Looks like the seat of Grief and Desolation f 
But Heaven is now his portion and his home : 
And Oh ! the endless blessedness of him 
Released from all calamities of earth ! 
This grateful thought can raise the drooping mind, 
And heal the wound of Sorrow in the heart. 

Remembrancer of joys for ever past! 
Memorial of a friend for ever true ! 
O thou indeed art welcome to my sight, 
Dear gift of his regard ! 



SONNET 



TO MR. BLOOMFIELD, AUTHOR OF u THE FARMER'S BOY. 3 



1809. 



BLOOMFIELD ! thy rural song most sweetly flows, 

Inspiring the young heart with pure delight ; 
Thy true description Nature's beauty shews, 

And, by thee drawn, her beauty seems more bright. 
Fresh lovely scenes to my enraptured sight , 

Rise, charm'd by thee ; and in my bosom glows 
(Tho' but a lowly and unlearned wight) 

For thee the warmth that genuine zeal bestows, 
A youth unknown to thee, unknown to fame, 
Would fain unfold the ardour of his heart ; 
Aspiring ev'n to friendship's virtuous name, 

To thee his grateful feelings would impart. 
Oh ! could I tune like thee the rural theme, 
And join thee down Time's ever-flowing stream! 



TO 



A WEDDING RING. 



INTENDED FOR A YOUNG FRIEND OF THE AUTHOR. 



O SPEED, thou little smiling toy ! 

To the dear hand thou soon shalt press; 
Be thou the source of every joy 

That e'er on earth can charm or bless ! 
Give to the pair, each passing hour, 

For many and many a peaceful year, 
Fresh proofs that Love's celestial pow'r 
Unites, in endless bliss, two hearts sincere — 
And binds by thee to make them doubly dear. 



EPITAPH 



ON WILLIAM BANKS, 



Who was killed, by a fall from a chaise, on the 11th of May t 1809., 
Aged 21 Years. 



O YE on pleasure bent, in spirits gay, 
Here learn how short may be the happiest day ! 
Beneath this tomb lies one, whose youthful heart 
Bore, in attractive joy, a feeling part; 
A gen'rous open mind, untried by care, 
And candour, spoke his ev'ry action fair : 
Yet these avaiFd not— ^-morning saw him rise 
With health and pleasure sparkling in his eyes ; 
The evening came — joy claim'd no more his breath; 
Alas ! one moment closed his eyes in death ! 
Reflect, ye youths! as starts the pensive tear, 
That you, like Banks, may fill an early bier! 



EPITAPH 



ON A CERTAIN WOMAN, 



GOOD Reader! tread lightly 

Over these stones ; — 
Below them are resting 

Poor Mary's old bones. 

She was once very good, 

Yet she might have been better; 
But she often declared 

That the world wouldn't let her. 



218 EPITAPH. 

However, 'tis true, she 
Endeavour'd, thro' life, 

To act as became 

A good Mother and Wife : — 

She was as obedient 

As most, I believe — 
for all women prove 

They're the Daughters of Eve. 



EPITAPH 



ON A CERTAIN MAN, 



BENEATH lies one who liv'd a fool, 
Tho' tutor'd in Affliction's school 

To all the ills of Life: 
For still the silly elf believed 
He every happiness receiv'd 

When he receiv'd a wife ! 

He suffer'd much by worldly cares, 
And often fell into the snares 

Of bad designing men ; 
Yet he contriv'd, " by hook or crook," 
And by the measures that he took, 

To rise and live again. 



220 EPITAPH. 

Thus, thro 5 his journey laboring on, 
Till all the prime of Life was gone, 

He every storm defied; 
But when he thought he'd conquered all- 
Mark, Reader ! what a mighty fall ! — 

He laid him down and died ! 

O had his heart — his soul — his mind — 
Been less to present good inclin'd, 

And more to future giv'n ! 
O had he died a man of worth ! 
Then none who now remain on earth 

Would doubt if he's in heav'n. 



SONNET 



TO BENEVOLENCE. 



THOU pow'r benign ! that thro' the soul 

Can'st pour a stream of vital fire, 
And over Nature's magic lyre 

Can'st bear harmonious soft controul ! 
Blest pow'r ! still anxious to condole 
With Pity for pale Sorrow's child, 
When in his breast the surges roll 
Of Woe's black sea confused and wild ! 
No human language can express 

How dear thy look, so sweetly mild, 
How many a pang thou hast beguil'd, 
How much thy soothing hand can bless : 
But ever must the grateful bosom feel 
What nature vainly struggles to reveal. 



STANZAS 



TO A LADY ON A VISIT IN YORKSHIRE. 



FAR from the bustling city's noise and strife, 

Far from the scenes where " deeds of death" increase, 

While you, my tender friend, the sweets of Life 
Enjoy, surrounded by domestic peace; 

Accept the faithful tribute of my lay 

That greets you thus in friendship's ardent strain; 
And O believe the truth it would convey 

From a warm heart that ne'er its love could feign. 



STANZAS. 223 

May every day that gently glides along 
On Time's invisible and silent stream, 

Still in sweet virtue and affection strong, 

Brighten your smiles with health's enlivening beam ! 

Where'er you wander, in the verdant mead 
Or down the windings of the ferny dale, 

To see the heavy shades of Night succeed, 
Or Morn awake upon the whisp'ring gale ; 

Or list'ning to the woodland notes that swell 
In mellow sweetness o'er the grassy plain, 

Where every sound of Nature seems to tell 
Delight and Happiness securely reign ; 

Or whether by some tranquill village cot 

With simple woodbine clinging round the door, 

You bless the humble peasant's happy lot, 
And breathe a wish to see theTown no more ; 

Where'er you pass the softly-stealing hour, 
Blest with the partner of your pilgrim way, 

May Love and Hope their blessings amply show'r, 
And like warm sunbeams thro' your feelings play ! 



224 STANZAS. 

And may you live for many joyous years 
Amid the comforts of connubial life, — 

Nor ever tremble in affliction's tears, — 
The fondest parent and the happiest wife ! 

Your lovely daughter, smiling by your side, 
Imbibing virtue in her infant heart, 

Shall be her father's dear domestic pride — 
Shall her lov'd mother's lively joy impart. 

And when, in age, the friendly hand of Death 
Shall gently bear you from Life's farther shore, 

O may the heavenly pow'r that gave you breath 
Bid you still live and love for evermore ! 



THE SLIGHTED LOVER. 



A BALLAD, 



I. 



DEAR Soother of my lonely hour ! 
O welcome to thy vernal bow'r ! 
Tis silent round my humble shed — 
Disturb'd by no intrusive tread : 

Begin, sweet Nightingale ! thy song, 

t 

And tell what pangs to thee belong ; 
With thee I feel, with thee I sing, 
The woes that slighted love can bring. 

Q 



?56 THE SLIGHTED LOVER, 



II. 



As late I tript across the green, 
With careless heart and lively mien, 
The youthful Emma (lovely maid !) 
Had from her woodland cottage strayM, 
And my heart glow'd with ardent pride 
When Emma hail'd me for her guide ! 
But now with thee I feel and sing 
The woes that slighted love can bring. 



III. 

I thought she smiled — I hung my head, 
And snatch'd the daisy from its bed — 
Then, tottering beneath the pow'r 
Of Love, I offer 'd her the flow'r; 
But she, unmoved and cold as clay, 
Disdainful threw the gift away ; 
And now with thee I feel and sing 
The woes that slighted love can bring. 



THE SLIGHTED LOVER. 227 



IV. 

Ah! 'till that hour I ne'er had known 
The beauteous girl, whose charms alone 
Could bid my former mirth depart, 
And captivate my youthful heart, — 
Could smile me to her dear controul 
Yet hope refuse to cheer my soul — 
And leave me thus to feel and sing 
The woes that slighted love can bring. 



V. 



My cheek, once ruddy as the sky 
Around the morning's brilliant eye, 
Is pale with silent grief and care, 
And forms the visage of despair ; 
While she who rules my hapless fate 
Beholds unmoved my alter'd state, 
And cares not tho' I feel and sing 
The woes that slighted love can bring, 

a 2 



YOUTHFUL FRIENDSHIP. 



INSCRIBED TO MISS D- 



OH! can the stream of Time, that ceaseless flows, 
Whate'er our lot amid this scene of woes, 
In its strong course the sacred ties destroy 
Of youthful Friendship and of youthful Joy? 
Yes ! the dear friend of Life's delightful mora 
May live to pine beneath the frown of Scorn; 
The chilling glance of Coldness and Disdain 
May pierce his soul with agonizing pain, 
From those who join'd him in the favorite grove 
With all the grateful warmth of early love ! 



YOUTHFUL FRIENDSHIP. 229 

Yes, the vicissitudes of wayward Fate 

Are so mysterious in this transient state, 

Affection, dying on the tide of years, 

May leave us friendless in the vale of tears ! 

Yet this sweet knowledge aids the humble mind — 

To the shorn lamb God tempers still the wind: 

And this rich comfort to the soul is giv'n 

Distress receives the conscious smiles ofheatfn! 

Can I forget how oft, in days of youth, 
Dear Sarah! I admired thy gen'rous truth? 
How I rejoic'd thy footsteps to attend — 
Thy gay companion ! thy regarded friend ! 
In those sweet walks where groups of lovely maids 
Iloam'd o'er the scenes of Holmsdales peaceful shades ? 
And can those scenes from our remembrance part 
While sense and feeling animate the heart? 
Can I forget the days of happy glee 
When carelessly I rambled there with thee? 
No — never !— But if God my memory save, 
Memory shall bless them even to the grave I 



SONNET 

TO TWO YOUNG LADIES, 

(orphan sisters,) 

On their taking a Boarding School at Henfteld in Sussex, — 1819, 



SISTERS and friends !— upon the Sea of Life 

Your venturous bark is gaily sailing on : 
O may you still escape the waves of Strife — 

Your voyage be peaceful as the sylvan lawn ! 
Hope gives the breeze that fills the fanning sail; — 

There sits young Courage smiling at the helm ! 

Tho' Fear and Doubt the bark would overwhelm, 
May Providence direct the prosperous gale ! 
Sisters and friends ! accept the ardent pray'r 

Of one who feels for you a brother's love : 
May God protect you with parental care, 

And may you every earthly blessing prove ! 
To you may years of health and joy be giv'n 
As pure and lovely as the smiles of Heav'n ! 



SONNET 



TO MISS BROWN, THE YOUNG PAINTRESS, 



MATILDA ! Paintress of the Summer flow'rs, 
And of the various fruits that Autumn yields ! 
Bright as the ray that gilds the blooming fields 
Is the sweet promise of thy youthful hours. 
Belov'd young candidate for cheering smiles ! 

O may the beams of Heav'n like genial show'rs 
Descend, to animate thy studious toils 

And bless thy genius with delightful pow'rs ! 
Matilda ! wert thou ev'n my own dear child, 
More true affection could not warm my heart : 
And hence my anxious feelings would impart 
A Parent's pray'r, solicitous and mild ! 
May health and joy attend your future hours- 
Rich as your fruit and lovely as your flow'rs ! 



SONNET 

TO MY ELDEST DAUGHTER 

On her attaining her fifteenth year.— October, 1821, 



SARAH ! thy years begin to rise above 
The age of childhood ; and they upward steal 
TTnmark'd, perhaps, by thee : but those who feel 

The anxious watchings of parental love, 

Regard the progress of thy youthful days 

With tender hopes and yet with trembling fears. 

The road of Life is full of rugged ways 

Which thou may'st tread in darkness and in tears ! 

O that the face of Heav'n may smile on thee, 
And cheer thy path with golden rays of light! — 
Giving to thee a soul serene and bright — 

And joy to thy lov'd Mother and to me. 

O seek protection of Almighty pow'r — 

The only shield in Life's tempestuous hour ! 



SONG. 



WHEN pining cares oppress the mind, 

And deeply wound the tortured breast, 
Can we the powerful balsam find 
To heal the feeling heart distrest? 
O yes — the balm, imparted from above, 
Is found in friendship and connubial love ! 

When the cold frowning world may give 

To tenderness the pangs of woe, 
Can we then longer wish to live ? 
Can aught still bind us here below? 
O yes — the tie, imparted from above, 
Is found in friendship and connubial love I 



234 song. 

When youthful hearts beat high with joy, 
And smiles illume the dimpled cheek; 
Can greater bliss the soul employ? 

Can sweeter smiles our pleasure speak? 
O yes — the joy imparted from above 
Is found in friendship and connubial love ! 

If clouds obscure our transient day, 

And griefs the injured bosom tear ; 
If joys the sweets of Life display, 

And make the prospect bright and fair; 
Still, still the aid imparted from above 
Is found in friendship and connubial love ! 



SONG 



HIDE not thy face, Maria dear ! 
For beauty's cheeks more fair appear 
Grac'd by the falling chrystal tear 

Of Sensibility ! 

The loveliest rose that ever grew, 
When moisten'd by the morning dew, 
Appears more lovely to the view 

Of Sensibility, 



236 song. 

And those engaging eyes of thine 
Thro' Pity's dew more lovely shine, 
To see thy bosom soft recline 

On Sensibility ! 

Let gentleness, a welcome guest, 
Be ever in the female breast, 
And beauty's mind be still exprest 

In Sensibility ! 

How beauteous are the tears that start 

Sweet consolation to impart 

To the deep-wounded tender heart 

Of Sensibility! 

Indeed, dear girl, the finest grace 

That ever female can embrace, 

Is in the form — the eye — the face — 

Of Sensibility! 



SONG. 



WHENE'ER I see Maria's face, 
And mark her pensive air and grace, 

Or meet her speaking eye; 
Her beauties I almost adore L 
I feel a joy unknown before, 

And yet I scarce know why ! 

In song, to give serene delight, 
With the sweet warbler of the night 

Maria's notes may vie : 
I own the magic of her voice — 
In none so much can I rejoice, — 

Yet who can tell me why ! 



240 SONG. 

My fate with her's is so entwined — 
Such is her empire o'er my mind — 

That if she were to die, 
The first of blessings in my view 
Would be to bid this world adieu; — 

Love knows the reason why ! 



SONG. 



ON him I love, ye sacred pow'rs ! 

Bestow your care, your guardian aid ; 
Give him still many happy hours 

To live for me, the village maid ! 
O grant my prayer, ye pow'rs above ! 
Bestow your care on him I love ! 

Let no vain wish disturb his rest, 
No ill his peace of mind invade ; 

But O inspire his feeling breast 
With love for me the village maid ! 

O grant my prayer, ye pow'rs above ! 

Bestow your care on him I love ! 

R 



242 SONG. 

Should fortune's frown his bosom rend, 
Or should his bloom with sickness fade, 

Let me his troubled days attend — 
His ever constant village maid ! 

O grant my prayer, ye powers above ! 

Bestow your care on him I love ! 



SONG. 



MY dearest Anna, must we part? 

And are we doom'd to shed the tear? 
And must this palpitating heart 

Now bid adieu to all that's dear ? 
By me such pangs be never known — 
Whose heart must beat for thee alone ! 

Behold the breast whose ev'ry sigh 

For thee, dear girl, for thee must swell,- 

And canst thou bid me from thee fly ? 
And can these lips pronounce farewell? 

r2 



244 SONG. 

Can these poor overflowing eyes 
That gaze with rapture on thy face, 

And shew what only love supplies, — 
O must they see our last embrace ? 

Should Fortune's unrelenting pow'r 
To thee another guardian give, 

May'st thou be blest thro' ev'ry hour ! 
But how without thee could I live ? 

By me such fate be never known— 

For I would live for thee alone ! 



SONG. 



YOUNG Anna was the sweetest lass 
That ever trod the village green; 

No dimpled cheek could her's surpass — 
No eyes more bright than her's were seen 

And beauteous was the form displayed 

By her, the rosy blue-eyed maid I 

How soft the music of her tongue ! 

How gentle was her modest air ! 
When light she tripp'd the dale along, 

To meet her faithful lover there ! 
O then how blest, beneath the shade, 
Was she, the rosy blue-eyed maid ! 



246 song. 

But now her youthful cheek is pale, 
And sorrow marks her languid eye : 

No more the whisper'd evening gale 
Shall mock her lover's ardent sigh ! 

And all the pensive beauties fade 

Of the once rosy blue-ey'd maid ! 

The fiend of war, with cruel hand, 
Has her belov'd young Edward slain,- 

Who left his peaceful native land 
To bleed on Talavera's plain ! 

And from that moment have decay'd 

The roses of the blue-eyed maid ! 



THE 



TOMB OF LOVE, 



A BALLAD, 



FOUNDED ON THE 



DISCOVERY OF MADEIRA. 



THE TOMB OF LOVE. 



A BALLAD, 



O'ER the cold tomb of silent love 

Shed'st thou the sacred tear? 
And, Lady, would'st thou know their fate 

Whose ashes mingle here? 

Fair stranger in the isle of health ! 

If thou their fate bewail, 
O may thy tender youthful heart 

Improve the simple tale! 



252 THE TOMB OF LOVE. 

The dust reposing in the tomb, 

Beneath yon aged tree, 
Was once a parent's lovely pride — 

Was lovely once as thee. 

In England was the maiden born; 

A baron was her sire; 
And she had kindled high-born hearts 

With love's enchanting fire. 

An ancient castle's gothic tow'r 

Arose within the dale, 
Where oaks had stood through ages past 

And sported in the gale. 

The eastern battlements had gleam'd 

In morning's golden ray, 
For centuries of silent years 

That swiftly pass'd away. 

There did the noble baron live 

In grandeur and in wealth; 
There was the lively voice of mirth — 

The merriment of health, 



THE TOMB OF LOVE. 253 



The baron and his lady seem'd 
The happiest pair on earth; 

And O how oft they bless'd the hour 
That gave their daughter birth ! 

Their life was one fair summer day : 

No clouds of gloomy care 
Cast their dark shadows o'er the scene, 

Or shed their sorrows there. 

Like the sweet violet in the morn, 
Refreshed by gentle show'r, 

Their Anna charm'd the sylvan glen — 
Young Beauty's modest flow'r! 

Oft did they smile through tears of joy 

On their delighted child, 
While the dear accents of her tongue 

Gave music to the wild. 

The echoes round their rich domain, 

The craggy hills among, 
Were all familiar with her voice, 

And raptured with her song. 



254 THE TOMB OF LOVE. 

So pass'd the season of delight — 

Of innocence and joy ! 
Alas ! that aught should ever come 

Such season to destroy! 

As the mysterious pow'r of Spring 

Gives life to every grove, 
The sun of youth inspires the heart 

With all the warmth of love. 

Young Robert saw the artless maid 
When evening shadows fell; 

And in the twilight she appeared 
The fairy of the dell. 

Her image dwelt within his mind, 

And robb'd him of repose ; 
For in the visions of the night 

That lovely image rose. 

Soon in the open day he saw 

Her beauteous form again, 
Bending in graceful ease, to cull 

The flow'rets of the plain. 



THE TOMB OF LOVE. 255 



Her figure had a magic pow'r 
To charm the heart of youth ; 

While her sweet countenance bespoke 
Simplicity and truth. 

Though eighteen years the lovely girl 

Had trod the flow'ry lea, 
The simple daisy as it grew 

Was not more pure than she. 

What wonder then, if Robert lov'd ? 

His feelings were refin'd ; 
He had a chaste and noble heart, 

A cultivated mind. 

But ah ! with little worldly store, 

His unassuming sire 
Lived at the mansion on the hill, 

An honest country 'squire. 

And could fair Anna's parents give 

The treasure of their life 
To bless that youth, howe'er belov'd — 

To be young Robert's wife? 



256 THE TOMB OF LOVE. 

No: — high ambition in their dreams 

Saw the dear lovely Fair 
The wedded lady of an earl — 

A proud and wealthy heir. 

Thus the false love of rank and pow'r 

Parental love defiled ; 
And thus the pride of splendid wealth 

Would sacrifice a child! 

O sad perversion of the soul ! 

Ambition weak and blind I 
To break the peace of innocence — 

And desolate the mind! 

The blushing maid reveal'd her heart, 
With feelings warm and pure ; 

And told her love as if that love 
For ever would endure. 

Her spring of life had never known 
The shades of pain or care : 

Her thoughts were full of happiness, 
And every hour was fair. 



THE TOMB OF LOVE. 257 

Yet now she trembled when alone — 

For, tho' she knew no ill, 
She fear'd it might be wrong to love 

Young Robert of the hill. 

But who can rule the pow'r that reigns 

O'er ev'ry human breast? 
That pow'r disturb'd her anxious day, 

And broke her nightly rest. 

The mutual vows of faith had pass'd 

The lips of artless youth : 
They seal'd each promise with a kiss 

As spotless as their truth. 

Now came the trial of their faith ; 

Of constancy the proof; — 
The lover now no more must come 

Beneath the baron's roof! 

For it was clear to all around, 

If blushes aught could prove, 
That, when he spoke, the maiden's cheek 

Was kindled up by love. 

s 



258 THE TOMB OF LOVE. 

And there were matrons by her side, 

Interpreters of sighs I 
Who, by their own experience, knew 

The language of her eyes. 

O well, indeed, the eyes can speak 
When dear companions part : 

Tho' painful silence chains the tongue, 
They speak the aching heart. 

So spake fair Anna's : when her love 

To banishment was pass'd, 
She told him, by a parting look, 

It should not be the last ! 

In vain the frowning parents chid; 

In vain the matrons met; 
Her smiles had vanish'd — and with tears 

Her nightly couch was wet. 

Her cheek, where late the rose of health 

In lovely blushes grew, 
Was like the pensive woodbine flow'r 

Drench'd in the morning dew. 



THE TOMB OF LOVE. 259 

And where was Robert?-— Thro' the dale 

He walk'd, in thoughtful mood; 
When sudden o'er his head arose 

The woodlark and her brood. 

Children of innocence ! he cried ; 

Ye wand'rers of the grove ! 
O could I pass my life, like you, 

In liberty and love ! 

Your days are free from all the care 

That racks the feeling mind : 
You know not wealth— you know not pride — 

The curse of humankind ! 

Man boasts of reason and of sense, 

And claims an angel's part: 
He speaks in nature's heav'nly voice, 

Yet acts by servile art. 

Such are the ills of human pride — 

O that I knew them not! 
The world engrosses all the soul, 

And heav'n is quite forgot ! 

s2 



260 THE TOMB OF LOVE. 

An angry parent's chilling frown 

My lovely maid must see ! 
The weight of grief will break her heart- 

Her heart will break for me. 

For me! — the words escaped aloud; 

He started from the ground ; 
Two little words with wond'rous pow'r 

Awoke the echoes round! 

The sound had ceas'd — when lo ! again 

The pausing silence broke : 
For thee — came softly to the ear, 

As if a seraph spoke ! 

The plaintive tenderness of tone 

To that sweet echo giv'n, 
Would melt the most unfeeling heart, 

And turn its thoughts to heav'n. 

The listener like a statue stood : — 
The paleness of his cheek, — 

The tear-drop trembling in his eye, — 
Spoke, what no words could speak. 



THE TOMB OF LOVE. 261 

For as he raised his aching brow, 

And clasp'd his nervous hands, 
Behold, before his wond'ring view 

The lovely Anna stands ! 

The dusky veil of Evening falls 

Around the silent plain ; 
And where they first exchang'd their vows 

The lovers meet again. 

O Robert! I have stol'n away 

To tell thee we must part 
For ever ! — Silently in grief 

He press'd her to his heart. 

Then, gazing wildly in his face, 

The frantic maiden said, 
Tomorrow I must wed, they say, — 

Tomorrow I must wed ! 

Thou must not see the marriage feast ! — 

Thou must not come, my love ! — 
Tho' here we part — we'll meet again 

In the blest realms above ! 



262 THE TOMB OF LOVE. 

Faintly the sigh of anguish came, 

Soft rising from her breast; 
And what no language e'er could tell 

Her silent look express'd. 

Ne'er can I meet thee here again I 

Tomorrow I must wed ! 
But O the thoughts of thee will make 

The grave my bridal bed. 

That hope will dwell within my mind, 
And I the hour shall greet :— 

The wedding robe prepared for me 
Shall be my winding sheet ! 

Victim of pride !— O raise thy head, 
Thou lovely drooping flow'r ! 

No strength shall tear thee from my heart- 
No strength of earthly powV! 

Thou can'st not be another's bride, 

For thou art true to me : 
O meet me here again, my love, 

And I will fly with thee. 



THE TOMB OF LOVE. 263 



When Morning glitter'd on the tow'rs 
The bridegroom came in state, 

And music hail'd the smiling peer 
As he approached the gate. 

Now welcome to my hall, my son ! 

The stately Baron cried : 
The loveliest flow'r of Beauty's train 

This day shall be thy bride. 

Graceful before th' assembled guests 

The timid maid appears; — 
Lord Harold weds her trembling hand— 

Her heart is in her tears. 

The feast was high — the western ray 
Had left the mountain head— 

And evening shadows darken'd round — 
When lo ! the bride had fled ! 

Young Robert with his foaming steeds, 

Swift as the passing gale, 
Plac'd his fair treasure by his side 

And darted thro' the dale ! 



264 THE TOMB OF LOVE. 

Affection on the wings of speed, 

In fear's unequal flight, 
Bore the young lovers to the coast 

Beneath the cloak of night. 

And, ere the op'ning rays of morn 

Upon the hills appear, 
Beyond the reach of quick pursuit 

They're safe from every fear : 

For they have gain'd the friendly bark 

That waited on the shore, 
And left their native hills and vales 

To see those scenes no more ! 

They sail — and they are bound for France. 

The vessel seems to glide 
As if the calm and gentle waves 

Were list'ning by the side ! 

Some secret ties of parting love 

To every heart belong : — 
Their sacred influence is told 

In Anna's plaintive song: 



THE TOMB OF LOVE. 265 



Sweet breeze of morning! let me taste 
The richness of thy fragrant air; 

For I am borne, in fearful haste, 

To foreign shores — I know not where! 

Sweet breeze of morning! O distil 
Thy dewdrops on my leaving hand ! 

In thee I taste my native hill, — 
By thee I leave my native land. 

Sweet breeze of morning ! I depart 
With feelings that no tongue can tell; 

They deeply tremble in my heart, 
While only tears can say— farewell ! 

Robert could bear no more : his voice 
The lovely mourner bless'd; 

And, in the tenderness of love, 
He clasp'd her to his breast. 

Hush all thy fears, my gentle maid ! 

Hush all thy timid fears ! 
For I will ever shelter thee, 

And wipe away thy tears. 



266 THE TOMB OF LOVE. 

Tho' now the shore is dimly seen, 

And slowly fades away, 
Another land, more kind to us, 

Shall cheer the coming day. 

Remember, love, whate'er our fate, 

If bright or dark the sky, 
Where'er we pass our day on earth, 

We all are born to die. 

No smiles of joy, or tears of grief, — 

No poverty or pow'r, — 
Can change the awful will of heav'n, 

Or stay the destin'd hour. 

Then, since no clime can e'er secure 

A mortal from the grave, 
O why lament the change of scene ? 

Why dread the guiltless wave? 

Hush all thy fears, my gentle maid ! 

Hush all thy timid fears ! 
For I will ever shelter thee, 

And wipe away thy tears. 



THE TOMB OF LOVE. 267 

Can's t thou for ever shelter me? 

O no, dear Robert, no ! 
Thou know'st not where we may be cast, 

Or whither we may go* 

I may be left alone to weep 

O'er thy untimely death ; — 
And O may heav'n but take my life 

With thy departing breath ! 

O'erwhelm'd with grief, she fix'd her eyes 

In one wild vacant stare ; 
Then sank upon her lover's arm, 

The image of despair ! 

They mingled sighs, but shed no tear 

That might relief impart; 
And look'd — as if the eyes of each 

Would break the other's heart. 

Now o'er the vast expansive deep, 

The last faint ray of light 
Wa*l glimm'ring on the western wave, 

And melting into night; 



268 THE TOMB OF LOVE. 

When suddenly in darkness round 

The gloomy clouds arose, 
And the sad voyagers beheld 

The measure of their woes. 

Unskill'd in all the seaman's art, 

Upon the ocean wide, 
They had no pow'r to rule the bark, 

Nor compass for their guide ! 

The darkly-foaming billows rise, 
And rage, and swell, and roll — 

'Till the loud tempest in the sky 
Trembles from pole to pole ! 

Wild terror seiz'd the crew : flash— flash- 

Upon the quiv'ring wave, 
The lightning every moment shews 

A deeply-yawning grave ! 

At length the storm subsides : the rain 
Has quench'd the sulph'rous air; 

And from the east in crimson beams 
The morning rises fair. 



THE TOMB OF LOVE. 269 



Yet fourteen days upon the sea 
The shatter'd bark was toss'd : 

Famine completed the distress, 
And every hope was lost. 

But Hope is oft behind the cloud, 

Replenishing her pow'r, 
When the poor wearied spirit sinks 

In sorrow's darkest hour. 

The faintly- shouting voyagers 

Beheld, with grateful eyes, 
Fair smiling in the face of morn, 

A lovely island rise ! 

O blessed sight! — delightful view ! 

Cool streams and shady trees ! — 
Joy like enchantment touch'd the heart, 

And heav'n was in the breeze ! 

They landed on the welcome shore 
That Providence had giv'n, 

And on their knees, with feeble voice, 
Return'd their thanks to Heav'n. 



270 THE TOMB OF LOVE. 

And now a friendly resting place 
Appear'd before their view, — 

Under an aged tree, whose boughs 
Were glitt'ring with the dew. 

There did the anxious Lover build 

A sweet romantic boVr, 
O'ershaded by the spreading tree 

And twined with many a flow'r. 

The balmy air that breathes around 
At Morn's delightful hour, 

Wafted its golden fragrance o'er 
That sweet romantic bow'r. 

The ocean and the azure sky 
Display'd such lovely pow'r, 

That gentle Nature seem'd to smile 
On that romantic bow'r. 

And here the wandering voyagers, 
Fatigued with toil and pain, 

Would gather fruit to store their ship- 
Then try the waves again. 



THE TOMB OF LOVE. 271 



For they would sail the ocean o'er, 

And all it dangers prove, 
To find an altar of their God 

And join in wedded love. 

Their love was of the mind and heart 
By truth and virtue blest; 

A stranger to the lawless flame 
That robs the soul of rest. 

When Robert with a pensive smile 

His grateful matin sung, 
Who can describe the tenderness 

That trembled on his tongue? 

He saw fair Anna's stifled sigh, 
And, lest the tear should start, 

He struggled to appear in joy 
While Grief was in his heart ! 

O take, he cried, O take repose 

Beloved dejected maid ! 
Behold thy bed amid the flow'rs 

On Nature's carpet laid. 



272 THE TOMB OF LOVE, 

Thy faithful Lover guards the bow'r 
His hands have raised for thee; 

And the soft air will kiss thy cheek 
Fresh from the smiling sea. 



O rest thee in the arms of sleep; — 
And may'st thou sweetly sweetly prove 

That those who smile and those who weep 
Are favor d by the pow'rs above ! 
O rest thee love ! 

O rest thee on thy flow'ry bed, 

So soft upon the velvet sod; 
Nature's green curtain shades thy head — 

Thy pillow is the hand of God! 
O rest thee love ! 



Sleep's gentle pow'r crept o'er her frame 

So softly and so mild, 
The lovely maiden's rest was like 

The slumber of a child. 



THE TOMB OF LOVE. 273 



The plighted Lover guards the bow'r 

With tenderness and care ; 
Kneeling beside his sleeping love, 

And whispering his pray'r. 

May she awake with strength renew'd ! 

And O may Heav'n ordain 
That we in fafety may return 

Across the dangerous main ! 

Soon she awoke with strength renew'd ; 

And he, with sweet surprise, 
Saw health returning to her cheek 

And sparkling in her eyes ! 

She rose, and with a graceful smile 

Her thankfulness to prove, 
Oave him the purest earthly joy — 

The tender kiss of love ! 

Alas! the transient joys of man 
Are sunbeams of the heart, 

That in the cloudy day of Life 
Just gleam — and then depart ! 

T 



274 THE TOMB OF LOVE. 

Again with awful sudden gloom 

The sky was overcast ; 
And soon the dreadful storm arose 

Loud howling in the blast ! 

Far from the beach the bark was driv'n, 
And sank amid the waves ! 

Leaving the pair — so late in joy- 
No prospect but their graves ! 

O the mysterious ways of Heav'n 
No human tongue can tell ! — 

Like a fair lily in the storm 
The lovely maiden fell ! 

The bitter cup of Life was swell'd 
With Grief's overflowing tide — 

And instantly the Lover sank 
Heart-broken by her side ! 

From their own bow'r their spirits fled 

To fairer bow'rs above :— 
O'er them their pale companions wept, 

And raised the Tomb of Love. 



THE 



FALL OF BADAJOZ 



TO 

THE RIGHT HONORABLE 

THE 

EARL OF WELLINGTON, 

COMMANDER IN CHIEF OF THE BRITISH ARMY 
IN PORTUGAL, &c. &c. 



MY LORD, 

Among the thousands impressed ivith the 
highest admiration of the eminent services yati have 
rendered to your grateful Country, a very humble Indi- 
vidual presumes to approach your Lordship with his 
little offering of praise. However inferior my production 
may appear when compared with the glorious occasion, 
I can truly say that my intentions and my feelings are 
no less sincere than those of my Countrymen, whose 
talents may be far more capable of doing justice to the 
subject. But I will not trouble your Lordship with a 
long history of myself I am desirous of paying my 
fribute of gratitude, and I have hope that it will be 



DEDICATION. 

received with that affability and kindness which are the 
characteristic features of your Lordship's mind. Should 
this little poetical homage be so fortunate as to obtain 
your notice ; should it afford a moment's amusement to 
your Lordship amid the toils of War ; I shall indeed feel 
proud and happy ! 

That your Lordship may enjoy for many years 
the highly distinguished honours you have so deservedly 
obtained, is the earnest wish and prayer of, 

My Lord, 
Your Lordship *s very obedient 
humble Servant, 

W. HERSEE. 

London, June 24, 1812. 



THE 



FALL OF BADAJOZ, 



GENIUS of IJritain! raise the martial strain! 

Inspire with stronger notes my feeble lyre! 
And thou stern Valour ! striding o'er thy slain,— 

O breathe thy firmness on the trembling wire ! 

Heroic Honor ! in thy radiant car 

Take thy young Poet — and be thou his muse ! 
Guide him, O guide him, in the field of War, — 

And all thy spirit thro' the lay infuse. 



280 FALL OF BADAJOZ. 

Frown not, Britannia, on my daring song, — 
Ambitious to extend thy Wellesley's fame! 

O that my verse could flow sublimely strong, 
In just proportion to the Victor's claim ! 

For purer praise the Warrior never grac'd 

Than Wellesley won with his triumphant train, 

When Victory in all her warmth embraced 
Her favorite Chief on Talavera's plain . 

There joyful Honor hail'd his English friends, 
He all the fight had seen with raptured eyes ; — 

" Wellesley ! " he cried, " the noblest battle ends, 
That e'er made thousands lowly slaughtered lie ! " 

" Glory's bright crown accept — and keep it fair, — 
I place it glittering on my Hero's head." 

With exultation thro' the echoing air 

He rose, — and radiance all around him shed. 

Of that resplendent crown the Chieftain's deeds 
Have ne'er obscured the animating beam ; 

Oft has it led the Warriors — now it leads 
The British host by Guardiana's stream. 



THE FALL OF BADAJOZ. 281 

The scene of warfare round Badajoz laid, 
The fortress rang with battle's brazen sound; 

Dreadful and loud the thundering cannon play'd, 
Yet English heroes firmly stood their ground. 

" Raise — raise the storm ! My valiant soldiers raise 
On yon firm bastion'd wall the powerful blow ! 

Raise, raise the storm ! " cried Wellington, whose praise 
Inspired each bosom with a martial glow. 

The Evening closed ; the sable shades of night 
Spread o'er the restless camp ! no star from high 

Pour'd down its radiant stream of silver light ! 
No friendly moon illumed the gloomy sky ! 

And now the glorious hour approaches near, — 
Each ardent comrade pants to lead the way ; 

Strangers alike to coldness and to fear, 
They rise impatient for the warm affray. 



282 THE FALL OF BADAJOZ. 



THE SOLDIER'S LOVE. 

A duteous thought the soldier gave 
To those who claim' d his heart : 

The battle field may be my grave, — 
My life may here depart ! 

O then, ye guardian pow'rs above ! 

Protect the objects of my love I 

Perhaps a parent mourns my fate, 
And weeps my early death; 

Nor dreams that courage thus elate 
Gives ardour to my breath ! 

Protect, ye guardian pow'rs above, 

The objects of my filial love ! 

A tender sister's youthful cheek 

May lose its rosy bloom, 
While her soft voice, in accents meek, 

Laments a brother's doom; 
Protect, ye guardian pow'rs above, 
The object of fraternal love ! 



THE FALL OF BADAJOZ. 283 

And she, the dearest to my heart ! 

My blessing and my joy! 
Now must the wife and husband part— 

And thou my infant boy ! 
Farewell ! — ye guardian powers above 
O shield these objects of my love ! 

Thus, ere he presses on the foe, 

The manly Briton feels; 
And tender mern'ry will bestow 

What his warm soul reveals. 
His latest prayer ascends above 
For every object of his love ! 



The hour is come ! O how shall language tell 
The furious onset ?— how can I display 

The scene of contest where Badajoz fell? 
The dreadful scene where dying soldiers lay ! 

Now valiant Picton waves the blade on high, 
Where eager Britons all impatient stand — 

The fire of courage flashing from his eye, 
While steady firmness issues his command. 



284 THE FALL OF BADAJOZ. 

The heart of Kempt rebounds with ardent glow ; 

He leads them on with firm unshaken tread ; 
Fair to the storm he rears his gallant brow, 

A thousand bullets whistling round his head. 

The trembling air becomes a fiery cloud, 
As Britons o'er Bivellas bear the way ; 

War's thunder rises — Carnage speaks aloud — 
Yet valour feels no danger or dismay I 

Lo ! Kempt approaches ! — to the castle wall 
He bends his aim, nor dreads the fate of strife ! 

He bleeds ! he presses on where hundreds fall ! — 
Where hundreds welt'ring quench the spark of life ! 

They scale the steepy side with panting breath, 
They rise triumphant on the wondering foe; 

They brave all dangers, tho' the hand of Death 
Hurls many a victim struggling down below. 

How fierce the conflict ! Horror stalks around ! 

The city walls are wet with crimson gore ! 
Undaunted soldiers to the conquest bound, 

Bold as ev'n Britons ever fought before ! 



THE FALL OF BADAJOZ. 285 

The foe, determined, still with vengeful ire 

Pour the loud thunder, fraught with awful speed ; 

Yet the brave English meet the ceaseless fire, 

And fearless march where friends and comrades bleed. 

Now to the warm attack upon the breach ! 

What furies thro' the burning ether fly I 
O for the soul of Scott my hand to teach ! 

To paint the battle scene where heroes die ! 

Come to my aid ye pride of ages past! 

. Spirits of bards whom martial scenes inspired ! 

O bear my fancy on the midnight blast 

With all your pow'rs of strong description fired ! 

Bear me to where the loudest cannon roar 
With sound tremendous on the crashing wall ! 

O let my rapt imagination soar ! — 
Let me in vision see Badajoz fall ! 

Then, and then only, language may convey 

The patriotic fervor of my heart; 
Then may my humble song with truth display 

The warmth my love of England would impart. 



286 THE FALL OF RADAJOZ. 

England ! dear native land ! how sweet for thee 
To tune the lyre with Freedom's mellow sound : 

How do thy trueborn sons rejoice to see 

Thy pride, thy Wellington, with laurels crown'd! 

See his brave soldiers marching to the fight! — 
Led on by heroes high in martial fame, 

Thro' the dark curtain of meridian night 

They rush, inspired by Glory's kindling flame. 

And Glory's flame, around the city spread, 

Lights the bold Conqueror to the sanguine strife :- 

The foe stands firmly,— -nor recoils with dread , 
But nobly yields the gushing stream of life. 

Pale Death attends: — he looks, with ghastly smile, 
On vigorous manhood destin'd for his prey; 

And swift he flies where Art and cunning Guile 
Surprise the British soldier on his way. 

Beneath the surface of deceptive ground 

Sulphureous mines, conceal'd with secret care, 

Burst in loud thunder — throw destruction round — 
And fill with dying screams the fiery air ! 



THE FALL OF BADAJOZ. 287 

Fell Carnage grins, and points with gory hand 
To where a breach the ardent fray invites ! 

Shells fly around where valiant Britons stand, — 
But — under Wellington the Briton fights ! 

In vain they press upon the breach ! — in vain 
The struggling heroes mount the trembling wall ! 

And, when the secret aid their foes maintain 
No art can break; how shall Badajoz fall? 

Shall the proud city yield its guarded strength? 

Shall Britons thro' such obstacles proceed? 
Where mingled dead and dying stretch'd at length 

Are laid — in the vain strife shall others bleed? 

The skilful chief observes the wily plan ; 

He bids the dauntless toiling soldier cease : 
He finds the task beyond the pow'r of man, 

And Courage halts to see his loss increase. 

The noble heart of Wellington can feel 

For ev*ry hero in his valiant train ; 
And while triumphant energies may steal 

Thro' his warm breast, he mourns the soldier slain. 



288 THE FALL OF BADAJOZ. 

Yet shall the contest end ? shall English arms 
Yield their bright glory to the sanguine foe ? 

Forbid it, British ardour ! — no alarms 

Can make thy spirit fall — can make thee cease to glow, 

Turn to the Castle ! Picton leads the way ! 

Walker is there ! — they scale the stubborn wall ! 
They rush, they struggle in the glorious fray ! — 

They gain the fort — and see Badajoz fall ! 

The shouts of victory echo in the air 

As British courage firmly treads the ground : 

The foe, so lately bold, in deep despair 

Recoils, to hear the conqueror's trumpet sound. 

When glimmering dawn illumed the eastern sky 
The reeking sword was sheath'd : the morning rose 

To bid the horrid form of Carnage fly, — 
To bid the crimson scene of battle close. 

The foe surrender'd — and the victor saw 

Four thousand captives yielded to his pow'r ! 

And here description fails — no pen draw 
The dreadful view of day's advancing hour. 



THE FALL OF BADAJOZ. 289 

The lively sunbeams play'd but yester morn 

On many a face now drench'd in trickling gore : 

Alas ! those beams no more that face adorn ! — 
That face, so late in smiles, shall smile no more. 

The portly form that graced the martial field, 
The nervous arm that fought with manly force, 

No more shall rise the glittering sword to wield I 
Here on the ground he lies a mangled corse ! 

Edward was much beloved — the hero knew 
The heav'nly blessing of a generous heart; 

He had a friend, and they together grew 

From early youth 'till fate now bade them part. 

When battle call'd them to the doubtful strife 
Oft side by side they struggled in the field; 

And oft did each protect the other's life, 

And faithful Friendship proved their guardian shield, 

Firmly they stood — prepared to bleed or die 
In Honour's cause, their country to defend ; 

Fearless they heard the bullets round them fly, 
Or only fear'd to lose the bosom friend. 

u 



290 THE FALL OF BADAJOZ. 

But Darkness reign'd when firm Badajoz fell; 

The faithful friends the plunging sword defied ; 
And from the battle Alfred lives to tell 

How nobly Edward fought, how nobly died ! 

When Morning gleam'd, and shuddering Night recoiFd 
To see her blood-stain'd veil, — then Alfred came 

To where but late the brother heroes toil'd, 
And anxious call'd on Edward's valued name. 

He found him panting in the arms of death ! 

Languid his eyes, and pale his manly cheek — 
And weaker grew the struggles of his breath, 

And soon his feeble tongue must cease to speak ! 

But Alfred came to soothe his dying hour; — 

He rais'd his head, to hear the well-known voice ; 

And Friendship seem'd to give such wond'rous pow'r 
That ev'n in death he felt his heart rejoice. 

He raised his head — and saw Affection stand 
With tender Pity weeping o'er his doom : 

" Alfred !" he cried, and feebly press'd his hand, 
" Alfred ! the shrine of Glory is my tomb ! 



THE FALL OF BADAJOZ. 201 

I faint — O think of me — of one who dies 

For England's honor — and — forget me never ! — 

Remember — dear Maria!" — struggling sighs 

Burst his big soul !— his eyes are closed for ever ! 

" Farewell the noblest heart that ever beat ! 

Farewell the dear the ever valued friend ! 
Thy bosom was of sacred truth the seat, 

And virgin love thy spirit shall attend ! 

Remember thee ! — ah ! ne'er shall I forget 
The generous kind companion of my way ; 

How oft in battle's heat our swords have met ! 
How oft thy arm has saved me in the fray ! 

And thy Maria too shall hear from me 
That her lov'd hero fell in glory's field ; 

But sure her gentle heart will break for thee — 
How shall the dreadful tidings be reveal'd ! 

Farewell the noblest heart that ever beat; 

Farewell the dear the ever valued friend! 
Thy bosom was of sacred truth the seat, 

And virgin love thy spirit shall attend !" 

u2 



292 THE FALL OF BADAJOZ. 

Thus o'er the silent corse the manly heart 

Pours its warm friendship for the valiant dead; 

And when in battle's field the heroes part 
The gushing tear of gratitude is shed. 

my heart trembles as my fancy paints 

The night-clad scene where thousands pant for breath ! 

1 walk thro' streams of blood ! — I hear the plaints 

Of wounded, praying for the stroke of Death! 

There many a hero finds the last long sleep ; 

There falls the sire, the husband, and the son, — 
O'er whose sad fate shall Love and Friendship weep, 

Nor think of glory by their valour won. 

Victory! to wives, to mothers, dearly bought ! 

O that thy laurels came all free from grief! 
Thy hard-earn'd wreath, to many a mourner's thought, 

Drops vital crimson from each moisten'd leaf. 

Yet think, ye mourners ! think if war can cease 
While Europe's foe usurps each hapless plain ; 

While fierce Ambition breaks the bonds of peace, 
To bind the world in his despotic chain. 



THE FALL OF BADAJOZ. 293 

Ye lovely females of Britannia's isle, 

To her brave heroes' hearts for ever dear ! 

Pride of my country ! O reflect awhile, 

And think your guardian is the warrior's spear. 

Then weep not — weep not, tho' your offspring bleeds, 
Stain not your rosy cheeks with endless woe;— 

When Britons fall their high heroic deeds 
Bid the warm tear of sorrow cease to flow. 

But Nature still will bear her pow'rful sway; 

Nature will draw the wife's, the mother's tear; — 
Daughters of Britain ! her sweet call obey, — 

And let your hearts the heroes' prize appear. 

Yes! — ye must weep! the mildly beaming eye 
Must give the meed affix'd by Nature's power; 

Yes! — Grief's dark cloud will dim the lovely sky, 
And drench your roses in the ample shower. 

Tribute of love by gentle beauty paid ! 

The best reward the warrior ever knew ! 
O Britons ! happy, happy be the shade 

Where the fair mourner sheds the grateful dew. 



"294: THE FALL OF BADAJOZ, 



DIRGE. 

Rest, rest ye brave ! Fame guards the grave 

Where your lov'd ashes lie ! 
The heart will swell as Britons tell 

How nobly Britons die. 

Rest, rest in peace ! ye shall not cease 

To be for ever dear : 
And long your name, shall have its claim,— 

Your country's grateful tear ! 

Rest, rest in earth ! your patriot worth 

In England ne'er shall die ! 
Rest, rest ye brave ! Fame guards the grave 

Where your lov'd ashes lie. 



Thou pride and honour of my country dear ! 

Immortal Wellington ! to thee belong 
The pray'rs of thousands ! — yet O deign to hear 

The duteous tribute of my humble song ! 



THE FALL OF BADAJOZ. 295 

Long will Britannia bless thy noble name, 

And long will glory's crown adorn thy brow ; 

Long thy achievements grace the rolls of fame, 
And future heroes in thy praises glow. 

Yes ! many a Briton yet unborn shall learn 

From thy example of undaunted skill, 
The brightest wreath of victory to earn ! 

The warmest glow of courage to instil ! 

Thy soldiers share thy fame — all proud to be 
The true adherents to the noble cause ! 

To have their valiant deeds enroll'd with thee, 
To claim their country's blessings and applause. 

From glory's hour on Talavera's plain 

To when stern Valour made Badajoz yield, 
England has conquer'd ! — England yet may gain 
More deathless laurels in the martial field ! 

Thou pride and honour of my country dear ! 

Of Spain — of Portugal — the valiant friend ! 
Thy brave Allies beside thy troops appear, 

Charm'd in the field where beams of hope attend ! 



296 THE FALL OF BADAJOZ. 

With thee, great Chieftain ! Hope indeed may smile 
On those who struggle in the ardent strife ; 

Honor leads on to where Oppression's guile 
Destroys the Patriot's liberty and life ! 

Thou, glorious Victor ! may'st to injured Spain 

Restore her rights ! and France, with banners furl'd, 

May fall disgrac'd — and tremble o'er her slain ! 
O welcome day to England ! — to the World ! 

Weak is the strain ! — in vain would I declare 
The grateful feelings of a British heart ! 

The feelings of the brave, the good, the fair ! 
The sacred joys thy victories impart ! 



ODE TO VICTORY. 

O thou whose living wreath so well 
The noble Warrior's brow entwined,. 

When England's foes at Cressy fell — 
And triumph ruled the royal mind I 



THE FALL OF BADAJOZ. 297 

Thou who, from scenes of ancient days, 
Hast oft o'er Britain deign'd to raise 
Thy trophied glories ! now inspire 
The hand that trembles on my lyre. 



Still to the struggling patriot soul 

Impart thy sweetly-cheering pow'r ! 
O Victory! when war's controul 

With sulphur clouds the crimson hour, 
When pealing thunder shakes the ground, 
When heroes to the contest bound, 
When courage strides the field for right, 
O cheer the warrior in the fight ! 



Now from his dear his native home 

The valiant soldier marches far, — 
With British ardour call'd to roam 
Amid the loudest clang of War; 
Where Tyranny extends his hand ! 
Where base Oppression o'er the land 
With guileful art presumes to smile, 
And Treachery looks on the while! 



298 THE FALL OF BADAJOZ. 

The sons of Freedom shall attend 

The noble strife for injured Spain; 
And every Patriot shall defend 

His native dale, his native plain : 
And still will Britain lend her aid 
Till many a hero, lowly laid, 
Shall prove how ardently advance 
The Friends of Right to conquer France ! 



On him, the Tyrant of the world ! 

The stubborn foe of lovely Peace ! 
Be due correction loudly hurl'd, 

To bid his vaunting greatness cease ! 
When in the field his minions rise, 
And shout their Ruler to the skies, — 
Let British Courage meet them there, 
And thou, O Victory ! rend the air. 



NOTES. 



" The scene of Warfare round Badajoz laid.'* 

page 281. 

FOR the following copious account of the place besieged I am 
chiefly indebted to a very respectable Weekly Journal, which gives 
an interesting " Historical Account of the Investment and Siege of 
Badajoz." 

Badajoz is a City which has always been conspicuous in military 
history. Like the Saguntum of Spain every recollection of it is 
associated with acts of heroism and valour. In this, as well as in 
former wars, it has always been deemed of primary importance; 
being at once a fortress of check and controul, and a key which 
opened an easy inroad either into Portugal or Spain. 

It is the capital of the province of Estramadura, and stands on an 
eminence on the south side of the river Guadiana, over which it has 
a stone bridge, seven hundred paces long and fourteen broad, built 
by the Romans. It contains six monasteries, the same number of 
nunneries, and a population of seven or eight thousand persons. 
The fortifications are partly ancient and partly modern : the fine 
Roman bridge over the Guadiana is defended by a tete de pont, on 
which a few guns were mounted. On the right bank of the river 



300 NOTES. 



stands the fort of St. Christoval, which commands the City. Badajoz 
was twice besieged by the Portuguese, but never taken. Here the 
Portuguese, under the command of Count Schomberg, were routed 
by Don John of Austria in 1661, and the city was besieged (but in 
vain) by the confederates in 1705. 

At the close of the first revolutionary war, Badajoz became 
remarkable for being the seat of the negotiations between Spain and 
Portugal, on condition that the province of Olivenza should be ceded 
by the crown of Portugal. This treaty is commonly called the treaty 
of Badajoz. 

In the present war, it became the quarters of a great part of the 
British Army, in October, 1809, after the retreat from Talavera; 
some Ladies of distinction opened their houses every evening to the 
British Officers. The entertainments on those occasions, called the 
tertullia, were similar to the fashionable routs of London, with a 
mixture of music and singing. 

In the month of January, 1811, in pursuance of a combined plan 
of operations between the French Commanders, previously to the 
commencement of Massena's retreat from Santarem, Marshals Mortier 
and Soult advanced from the South of Spain to Merida, and Mortier 
laid siege to Badajoz, having previously obtained possession of 
Olivenza. A Spanish Corps of from twelve to twenty thousand men, 
under General Mendizabel, sent to the relief of Badajoz, was sur- 
prised, and totally defeated by the French, who had to cross two 
great rivers, the Gebora and the Guadiana, to come to them. The 
French Commander being now at liberty to prosecute the siege 
without interruption, effected a breach by the 10th of February, 
when the Lieutenant Governor Imaz, who had succeeded as the 
Governor, Menacho being killed, surrendered the place. 

Marshal Beresford, w T ho was advancing to the relief of Badajoz, 
having had the mortification to arrive too late to save it, re-took 
Campo Mayor and Olivenza, which the enemy abandoned ; and on 
the 7th of May invested Badajoz in turn, in conjunction with a 
Spanish corps under that gallant and able patriot General Don Carlos 



NOTES. 301 



d'Espano : but intelligence having been received of the advance of 
Soult, with all his force from Seville, to raise the siege, it was thought 
prudent to send back the besieging Artillery to Elvas; and, leaving 
a corps to keep the Garrison of Badajoz in check, to march to give 
the enemy battle. The result was the glorious but dear-bought victory 
of Albuera, gained by the British arms on the 17th of May, 1811. 
Shortly after this victory the siege of Badajoz was resumed, Lord 
Wellington having previously joined and taken command of the army 
in person. On the 2d of June the batteries were again opened against 
Fort St. Christoval, the principal defence of Badajoz; and on the 6th 
a breach being effected which was reported practicable, an assault 
was made, but the assailants were repulsed with loss. A similar 
attempt was made in the night of the 9th, but with no better success, 
the enemy having cleared the ditch of the rubbish, and thus rendered 
the breach inaccessible. 

The combined French army, under Marmont (who had succeeded 
to Massena, Soult, &c) having now advanced to the relief of the 
place, the siege was finally raised, and Soult entered the place on 
the 20th. Since that period Badajoz has continued unmolested 
down to the commencement of the late siege. 

When Lord Wellington sat down before Badajoz, after having 
taken Ciudad Kodrigo, he was well informed of the strength of the 
place, and the excellent state of the fortifications. The river was 
swollen by the winter rain, and the ground around it presented every 
obstacle to a besieging army. There was no force in the country ; 
the whole domain was the very picture of sterility, and art and 
nature seemed to concur in the defence. The movements of General 
Hill in the Alentejo had closely pent up the French, and, in the 
assurance of an attack, they had bent every nerve to satisfy the 
natioual honor in its defence. It was a reasonable supposition that 
the French would do every thing to obstruct the siege, and it was 
therefore an object of the first importance to obtain possession of it 
in as short a time as possible from the commencement of the 
operation. 



302 NOTES, 



Ciudad Rodrigo had already been taken with astonishing rapidity, 
and in a manner that did not fail to disappoint and astonish the 
enemy, whose Commander had calculated that he would have been 
in time for its relief, if he could arrive there at a period which turned 
out to be nine or ten days subsequent to its fall. The exertions 
made by Lord Wellington in the siege of Badajoz, were not less 
extraordinary than those which distinguished his attack of Ciudad 
Rodrigo. The difficulties encountered in the course of the siege 
were great ; but, notwithstanding, in twelve days from the opening 
of the trenches, the place was in possession of the British Army. 

In looking at the circumstances attending this noble effort, it is 
impossible not to feel a glow of admiration at the skill and decision 
of the Commander, at the discipline of our troops, their invincible 
valour, and the conduct of the subordinate Officers of every 
description. 

The army moved from Elvas on the 13th of March, 1812, and 
took up their position on the Guadiana on the 15th. Badajoz was 
invested the next day, and his Lordship ordered the engineers to 
trace the first parallel as near to the enemy's outworks as possible. 
Before nightfall on the 17th, the army was in the trenches about 
two hundred yards from the enemy's works, and had completed its 
first parallel and begun its second. The enemy kept up a heavy fire 
upon us, which did not interrupt the works, though we had forty 
men killed and wounded in the trenches. The loss was trifling 
compared with the risk and importance of the works carrying on. 
On the 18th they proceeded on their second parallel ; but not so rapidly 
as on the day before, a heavy rain setting in, which continued the 
whole day. 

The enemy, finding the works would be damaged by the rain, and 
conceiving the ardour of our Soldiers would be damped, on the 19th 
first made some signals, and a considerable bustle in that part of the 
town nearest the left flank of the besiegers, who were prepared to 
receive them on either side; and the weather, which had been hazy 
as well as rainy, just then clearing up, they observed a column 



NOTES. 303 



pushing out upon their right — " They are coming!" was the excla- 
mation of our gallant fellows, who met them in the most courageous 
manner. 

Philippon, the Governor, sent out about two thousand of his 
garrison ; but they made not the least impression on our brave troops, 
who would not remain in their trenches, but followed to the very 
gate. The French left about three hundred dead, and a few prisoners. 
Ours were few. The Portuguese behaved most bravety in the sortie ; 
they had some killed and about eighty wounded. 

Lord Wellington was always on the spot. During the time the 
enemy made the sortie, a heavy fire of grape shot was kept up from 
the town. The garrison consisted of five thousand picked men. 



" Raise, raise the storm ! ,y 

p. 281. 

The attack was made on the 6th of April, at ten o'clock at night ; 
but the place was not in our possession till after six hours' fighting. 
The French had made use of every invention for repelling the assault. 
The British Army was in high health and spirits ; and their con- 
fidence in their illustrious Leader was unbounded. The sailors of 
the fleet at Lisbon made a request that they might be marched to 
the army, and fight under the Earl of Wellington. The tars were 
indignant at being quiet. 



" Now valiant Picton waves the blade on high" 

p. 283. 

" Lieutenant General Picton preceded, by a few minutes, 
the attack by the remainder of the troops." — Lord Wellington's 
Dispatch* 



304 NOTES. 



" The heart of Kempt rebounds with ardent gioic." 

p. 284. 

" Major-General Kempt led this attack- He was unfortunately 
wounded in crossing the river Rivellas below the inundation : but, 
notwithstanding this circumstance, and the obstinate resistance of the 
enemy, the castle was carried by escalade, and the third division 
established in it at about half past eleven." — Ibid. 



" They scale the steepy side." 

p. 284. 

From the peculiar situation of the place it was necessary to scale, 
although a large breach was effected: the enemy threw down the 
ladders as fast as they were raised, and thus precipitated whole 
companies into the fosse. When at last the men established them- 
selves on the walls, and leaped down, they fell on chevaux de frieze 
formed of old swords ground to the utmost sharpness. 



" Now to the warm attack upon the breach!" 

p. 285. 

" The 4th and light divisions moved to the attack from the camp 
along to the left of the river Rivellas and of the inundation. They 
were not perceived by the enemy till they reached the covered way, 
and the advanced guards of the two divisions descended without 
difficulty into the ditch, protected by the fire of the parties stationed 
on the glacis for that purpose ; and they advanced to the assault of 
the breaches, led by their gallant Officers, with the utmost intrepidity : 
but such was the nature of the obstacles presented by the enemy at 
the top and behind the breaches, and so determined their resistance, 
that our troops could not establish themselves within the place. 



NOTES. 305 



Many brave Officers and Soldiers were killed or wounded by 
explosions at the top of the breaches ; others who succeeded to them 
were obliged to give way, having found it impossible to penetrate 
the obstacles which the enemy had prepared to impede their pro- 
gress. These attempts were repeated till after twelve at night, when, 
finding that success was not to be attained, and that Lieutenant 
General Picton was established in the castle, I ordered that the 4th 
and light divisions might retire to the ground on which they had first 
assembled for the attack. 

Our troops being established in the castle, which commands all 
the works of the town and in the town; and the 4th and light 
divisions being formed again for the attack of the breaches, all 
resistance ceased ; and at daylight in the morning the Governor, 
General Philippon, who had retired to Fort St. Christoval, sur- 
rendered, together with General Veilande, and all the staff, and 
the whole garrison. 

It is impossible that any expressions of mine can convey the sense 
which I entertain of the gallantry of the Officers and troops upon 
the occasion. The General Officers, the staff attached to them, the 
commanding and other Officers of regiments, put themselves at the 
head of the attacks which they severally directed, and set the 
example of gallantry which was so well followed by their men." — 
Lord Wellingtons Dispatches. 



"0 for the soul of Scott!" 

p. 285. 

I am sure it is needless for me to mention that I allude to the 
genius of Walter Scott, Esq. whose beautiful productions are at once 
calculated to confer imperishable honor upon their author, and to 
charm all readers who are endowed with the least degree of literary 
taste or of natural feeling. 



306 NOTES. 



" Beneath the surface of deceptive ground" 

P- 

The streets of Badajoz were almost excavated, and the soldier 
walked upon mines: the air was rent with discharges of guns and 
the explosions of shells, and the ground shook as if it were convulsed 
by an earthquake. The night was extremely dark, and the brave 
soldiers could scarcely distinguish friend from foe. 



" Turn to the castle — Picton leads the way I 

" Walker is there! — They scale the stubborn wali!' y 

p. 288. 

Upon an occasion like the present, I am conscious that I should 
be highly blamable in speaking partially of any Officer, among those 
who equally distinguished themselves by unexampled bravery, and 
of whom their noble Commander has spoken in terms of the highest 
admiration. Where all (both officers and men) were excellent in 
the execution of their duty, it is hardly possible to point out which 
hero excelled his companions in triumph : but as Generals Picton 
and Walker, by the wonderful manner in which they scaled the walls 
and led to the conquest, appear to have performed what might be 
deemed almost an impossibility, I should perhaps be wanting in that 
respect for intrepid heroism, which is instinctively felt by every 
British heart, were I to omit naming them here. It may be truly 
said that the conduct of these two Generals was never excelled : the 
former, by his fearless and wonderfully cool manner of proceeding 
upon the attack, had inspired the army with the utmost confidence, 
and given an example of science and bravery that excited the admi- 
ration of his countrymen and the wonder of the enemy. It is but 
justice to acknowledge that his exertions, and those of General 
Walker, obtained the victory. On the one hand General Picton, 
with his intrepid followers, gained possession of the castle by esca- 



NOTES. 307 

lade; and on the other General Walker got into the fortress where 
there was no breach, by scaling the face of a strong bastion. 

In the course of my researches for the best accounts of this glo- 
rious achievement, I have observed a letter from an Officer in the 
army, at Badajoz, which gives a description of the scene in a maimer 
so spirited and so interesting, that I am tempted to take leave of my 
reader with the following extract: 

" Of all the desperate achievements that ever was undertaken this 
was the most glorious ; and I am convinced that no other troops in 
the world would have succeeded. The attack on Badajoz was the most 
awful sight that I ever beheld ! It began at night, when the enemy 
threw up a rocket, and afterwards several fire balls. As soon as our 
troops approached the breaches, tremendous explosions took place; 
and, as the night grew very dark, you may form to yourself some idea 
how great and awful was the effect. To describe it is beyond my 
power. No man ever deserved more of his country than General 
Picton : he is a most extraordinary Officer, and is highly esteemed 
by the whole army. 

" There is not a man in the army who does not feel that, with a 
view to ultimate success against the enemy, the taking of Badajoz 
was indispensable; and nothing but the skill and celerity of Lord 
Wellington could have given us this most important fortress without 
having to fight a battle, which must, however great had been the 
victory, have caused a much greater loss than the one we have 
experienced. It is in this way that what has been achieved ought 
to be considered. In former campaigns we had given proofs that we 
were at least equal to the enemy in the field ; in this campaign we 
have shewn that in their hitherto unrivalled art of besieging towns 
we are, in point of celerity, their superiors." 



x2 



THE 



BATTLE OP VITTORIA 



TO 



HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS 



THE 



PRINCE REGENT 



OF THE 



UNITED KINGDOM OF GREAT BRITAIN AND IRELAND, &c. &c. 



THE FOLLOWING 



POEM, 



DESCRIPTIVE OF THE 



, GLORIOUS VICTORY OF VITTORIA, 



IS 

(with permission) 
MOST HUMBLY INSCRIBED, 

BY 

HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS's 
VERY OBEDIENT AND LOYAL SERVANT, 

W. HERSEE. 



London, July 17, 1813, 



THE 



BATTLE OF VITTORIA 



BRITONS, attend ! with loud acclaim 
Let joyful thousands spread the fame — 
Let Exultation speak the name — 

Of England's noble pride ! 
Speak from the heart, my country dear ! 
Speak with the grateful manly tear, 
That proves the feelings are sincere 

In joy's high-rushing tide ! 



314 THE BATTLE OF VITTORIA. 

O Britons ! listen to the song 

Where patriot warmth would pour along 

The fire of ardour, bright and strong, 

Through all my native land! 
The islands echo with the news ! — 
Ye powerful raptures that infuse 
The deathless spirit of the muse, 

Inspire my feeble hand ! 

The lovely morn was bright and fair, 
And gentle breezes fann'd the air; 
O'er mountain, and o'er village spire, 
The sun had spread his golden fire, 
When in Vittoria's trembling vale 
Rose the bold heroes of my tale : 
Quick thro' the ranks new tumults run, 
Their musquets glitter in the sun ; — 
They fly to arms— the banners wave 
And Wellington leads on the brave ! 



THE BATTLE OF VITTORIA. 315 



WAR SONG. 

God of battles ! hover o'er us ! 

Lo ! the crimson banners wave ! 
Death and havoc stride before us, 

Beck'ning to the hungry grave ! 
God of battles! hover o'er us! 
Shield the youthful and the brave! 

God of battles ! now defend us ! 

Britain's glory all we crave — 
Double strength and valour send us, 

When the crimson banners wave ! 
God of battles! now defend us! 
Shield the youthful and the brave ! 



The Soldier's bright heroic eye, 
Undaunted at the threatening sight, 

Observes the proud Usurper nigh, 

Prepared to claim the neighb'ring height, 



316 THE BATTLE OF VITTORIA. 

Now loud the battle breaks around, 
Sir Rowland's valiant men advance ; 

Firmly they march, and soon the ground 
Reeks with the blood of hostile France. 

Quick flashing thro' the troubled air, 
Blue gleams the light sulphureous heat; 

And fiercely, 'mid the fiery glare, 
The rattling balls like thunder meet. 

Thousands of bullets, hissing by, 

Are whistling round the soldier's head, 

Where bravest comrades lowly lie — 

Where bleed the wounded and the dead, 

Courage and Fury now contend 
With equal struggles for the day ; 

And many a brother, many a friend, 
Rush'd madly to the stubborn fray. 

But vain, O France ! thy strongest pow'r 
To daunt the noble Briton's heart : 

Long shall thy sons lament the hour ! 
Long shall thy courage feel the smart f* 



THE BATTLE OF VITTORIA. 317 

The height is gain'd : — now in the vale 
Pale death and horror strew the ground ; 

And shouts of triumph in the gale 
Echo the trembling hills around. 

Yet the proud conquer'd (hopeless now 

The utmost of their martial skill) 
With double strength assail the brow, 

Still anxious to regain the hill. 

In vain — Despair has rush'd in vain, — 

Her struggles weaken, and she falls ! 
Yet now she seems to rise again, 

Where Hope within the valley calls. 

Doubtful and stubborn was the strife 

Upon the long-contested height : 
There many a noble valued life 

Breath'd its last ardour in the fight, 

Murillo bleeds, yet sternly dares 

The storm that thro' the battle flies ; 
Cadogan too the glory shares — 

He shares the glory, and he dies ! 



318 THE BATTLE OF VITTORIA, 

Hush the loud strain ! the pensive tear 
Bedews young Feeling's tender cheek; 

And o'er the Soldier's early bier 
Would Sorrow and Affection speak. 



THE HERO'S GRAVE. 

Ye guardian pow'rs ! bestow your blessing 

On the noble Hero's grave ! 
To Friendship grateful, yet distressing 

Are the laurels of the brave; 
For O the treasure thus possessing, 

Bleeds the heart for whom they wave ! 
Ye guardian pow'rs ! bestow your blessing 

On the noble Hero's grave ! 



Cadogan! thus we feel for thee; 

We mourn for every soldier slain ; 
The battle field will never see 

More valiant heroes tread the plain, 



THE BATTLE OF VITTORIA. 310 

And is the graceful warrior's brow 

O'ershadow'd in the cloud of death? 
Dark Tyrant of the storm ! dost thou 

Strike terror to the fleeting breath ? 

Shall Time's uncertain freezing pow'r 

Give coldness to the sacred dust ? 
Oh ! no— for in Life's closing hour 

New glories animate the just. 

Now on Zadora's frighted stream, 

Along the vale, the soldier view'd 
Increasing lights of purple gleam, 

That told the conquest was renew'd. 

The mountains o'er the trembling flood 

Rang loud with war's terrific sound ; 
And many a noble hero's blood 

Ran trickling on the trampled ground. 

Dim was the high meridian day, 

The clouds of battle gathering o'er, 
When on the bridge their dangerous way 

The mighty host of warriors bore. 



320 THE BATTLE OF VITTORIA. 

The river, that but lately pour'd 
In peaceful silence thro' the vale, 

Now shudder'd as the cannon roar'd, 
And startled at the flitting gale. 

The tempest wings of panic fear 
Make the hot air with horror start, 

As on Zadora's banks appear 

The op'ning floodgates of the heart. 

Then back the blushing waters creep, 
As if to leave their ancient bed ; 

And hills and vallies seem to weep 
O'er mingled thousands of the dead. 

The brave Allies the village gain, 
With all the force of dauntless arms; 

Fury and Havoc widely reign, 

And spread around their dark alarms. 

Thy lovely smiles, O Peace ! are flown- 
Farewell the friendly hour serene! 

The gale conveys the soldier's groan, 
And Discord claims the village scene, 



THE BATTLE OF VITTORIA. 321 

When the shrill fifes and rolling drums 

Cheer on the ranks by Picton led— 
When Graham to the battle comes — 

Remembrance fills the foe with dread. 

The noble Dalhousie is there, 

And there is Robinson as brave; 
And Frenchmen, driven by despair, 

Rush in dark frenzy to the grave. 

The vet'ran chieftains with surprise 

In silence view the ghastly field, 
Where many a hero welt'ring lies, 

Whose fate is now for ever sealM. 

The British soldier firmly strides, 

(His panting heart for glory warm) 
Where'er his lov'd Commander guides, 

To meet the danger of the storm. 

And, when he sees the darkening show'r 

Its fury thro' the field increase, 
He feels no terror in the hour 

That soon may bid him rest in peace, 

Y 



322 THE BATTLE OF VITTORIA. 

His wish is glory ; and his soul 

Would scorn to shrink at duty's call, 

Tho' round his head the thunders roll, 
And at his feet his comrades fall. 

O where will end the work of death ? 

Alas ! that war should ever reign ! 
But hush ! the pow'r that gave thee breath- 

That pow'r alone can take again. 

The spirit of new vital fire 

Pours thro' the ardent British heart, 
And slaughter's tongue, in language dire, 

Bids every Gallic hope depart. 

The foil'd Usurper wond'ring found 
His firmest efforts prove in vain, 

And look'd with grief upon the ground 
Where thousands of his men were slain. 

Then, trembling at the woeful scene, 
With rapid stride he sought retreat; 

While in his soul the daggers keen, 
Disgrace and Disappointment, meet. 



THE BATTLE OF VITTORIA. 323 

The flying legions leave behind 

The weighty treasures of their pow'r, 
While deepest anguish racks the mind 

Of Joseph, in the trying hour. 

And from Zadora's blood-stain'd vale, 

FilFd with the dying and the dead, 
The voice of terror loads the gale 

That murmurs round the vanqnish'd head. 

For see ! — the brave Allies pursue ! — 

They follow closely in the strife ! — 
The batter'd foe is doom'd to view 

Destruction pressing for his life. 

Fearful and wild batalions fly 

The triumphs of the British arms; 
While twilight glimmers o'er the sky, 

And gives new danger to alarms. 

He that so lately boasted loud 

Of greatness beaming on his crown, 
Now trembles at the frowning cloud 

That seems to pour its anger down. 



324 THE BATTLE OF VITTORIA. 

He startles at the rolling wheels 
That bear him guarded on his way ; 

And Fear a thousand forms reveals 
To him that shudders in dismay. 

O Fancy! thou art ever dear 

To youthful Pleasure's careless train, 
Where faithless friendship seems sincere— 

Where Beauty treads the flow'ry plain. 

And thou art dear indeed to me — 

To thousands who thy blessings know; 

O lovely Fancy ! but for thee, 

How little could the World bestow! 

Yet can thy busy wavering pow'r 
Give tortures to the restless heart ; 

And, in suspicion's frenzied hour, 
What mis'ry does thy aid impart ! 

Now shadowing o'er Vittoria's tow'rs, 
That glitter'd in the blaze of day, 

The sable veil of Ev'ning low'rs 
In darkness on the soldier's way. 



THE BATTLE OF VITTORIA. 325 

Closely pursued by British speed, 

Destruction still the foe attends ; 
No twinkling stars their footsteps lead — 

No moon a friendly guidance lends. 

Thus doubled is the cause of fear, 

The ranks in weak confusion tread, 
And silent falls the manly tear 

For self-distress— for brethren dead ! 

And where's the soul that cannot feel 

When valiant thousands thus depart? 
Who dares insult the warm appeal 

Of Nature to the human heart? 

Blest be the man whose lib'ral mind 

Feels keenly for another's woe ! 
Who can a tear of pity find 

When ruin agitates his foe ! 

Blest be the man who can rejoice 

In his lov'd country's martial fame! 
For him I raise my feeble voice — 

And England venerates his name. 



326 THE BATTLE OF VITTORIA. 

O Wellington ! for thee my lyre 

Shall vibrate with enraptured sound; 

Thy triumph spreads new patriot fire 
Thy favor'd native country round. 

In eveiy heart the glorious theme 

Finds warmest proofs of love and joy : 

Great Chieftain ! long on thee shall beam 
The hope that nothing can destroy ! 

The firmest rocks that bound the land, 
And dare the fury of the sea, 

Not stronger in their basis stand, 
Than England's confidence in thee. 

Through all the Island sounds of praise 
In grateful tides of transport pour; 

And every vale its homage pays 
In echoes to the distant shore. 

The laurel wreath around thy head 

Eternal virtues closely press ; 
And often, by remembrance led, 

Thy name shall future ages bless. 



THE BATTLE Of VITTORIA. 327 

For all my countrymen who fight 

So bravely in the noble cause, 
Long shall Britannia with delight 

Increase her echoes of applause. 

While British arms from patriot Spain 

The glooms of tyranny dispel, 
Thus shall my artless humble strain 

Vittoria's matchless triumph tell. 



SONG OF TRIUMPH. 

O rejoice in England's glory ! 

Triumph crowns her valiant arms ; 
Honor hails the welcome story — 

Peace shall come with double charms ! 
Peaceful Love and Friendship smiling, 
All the ills of War beguiling, 
Soon may brighten England's glory- 
Triumph crowns her valiant arms ! 



328 THE BATTLE OF VITTORIA. 

See the richest crown of glory 

Beaming on the Warrior's head ! 
France shall tell the dreadful story, 

How Vittoria's Heroes bled, 
And in smother'd anguish sighing, 
Mourn her boasted honours dying ! 
O rejoice in England's glory, 
Beaming on her Warrior's head ! 



NOTES. 



THE City of Vittoria is seated on the side of a hill, being walled 
round, and having ten gates. It is said by some historians to have 
been anciently called Bizantium, and others differ from them ; but 
the most probable opinion is that it was built by king Leuvigildus in 
the year 580, and called Victoriacum. 

In the front of this city the French army, under the command of 
Joseph Buonaparte, having Marshal Jourdan as the Major General, 
was most completely routed by the Allied Army commanded by the 
Marquis of Wellington, on the 21st of June, 1813. 



'* Prepared to claim the neighboring height.'* 

page 315. 
" Sir Rowland's valiant men advance. '* 

p. 316. 

The operations of the day commenced by Lieutenant General 
Sir Rowland Hill obtaining possession of the heights of La Puebla. 
The enemy sent strong reinforcements of troops to that point ; but 
Sir Rowland Hill met them with such determined bravery, that he 
gained and kept possession of the heights, notwithstanding all the 
furious attempts of the enemy to retake them. 



330 NOTES. 



" Murillo bleeds, yet sternly dares 

The storm that thro* the battle flies ; 
Cadogan too the glory shares — 

He shares the glory, and he dies!" 

p. 317. 

The contest upon the heights was very severe, and the brave 
Spanish General, Muriilo, (who first advanced with his division to 
the attack under Sir Rowland Hill,) was wounded, but remained 
in the field. The Honorable Lieutenant Colonel Cadogan, who 
commanded a battalion of light infantry, received a severe wound, 
of which he died. This lamented officer is thus mentioned by the 
Marquis of Wellington in his dispatches: " In him His Majesty has 
lost an officer of great zeal and tried gallantry, who had already 
acquired the respect and regard of the whole profession, and of 
whom it might be expected that, if he had lived, he would have 
rendered the most important services to his country .'' 



" Cheer on the ranks by Picton led- 
When Graham to the battle comes — " 

" The noble Dalhousie is there. 
And there is Robinson as brave" 



p. 321. 



ibid. 



Sir Thomas Picton, Sir Thomas Graham, the Earl of Dalhousie, 
and General Robinson, are not selected as the bravest heroes that 
shared in the glory of the day ; they held situations of which they 
proved themselves worthy; but every Briton will rejoice in the 
recollection that in the Allied army, formed under the command of 
a Wellington, none can be found who are not endowed with a spirit 
of heroism in the highest degree : under this view, I do not presume 
to make any partial selection \ and the confined limits of this my 



NOTES. 331 



humble offering, will not even allow me to mention all the names 
given by the Noble Marquis in his dispatches. Duty and justice, 
however, require that I should insert here the following words of his 
lordship : "I cannot extol too highly the good conduct of all the 
General Officers, Officers, and Soldiers of the Army, in this action ; 
the Portuguese and Spanish troops behaved admirably." 



" With rapid stride he sought retreat.'' 

p. 322. 

Joseph Buonaparte fled from Vittoria only a quarter of an hour 
before the Allied troops entered the city. He started in his carriage, 
surrounded by his guards ; but, being closely pursued by some 
British Cavalry, he was so hardly pressed by Captain Wyndham of 
the .10th Hussars (son of the Earl of Egremont) who came within 
pistol shot, that he found it expedient to alight from his carriage, 
and trust to the speed of his horse. The Captain had only a few 
men with him, but it is supposed that, had not a mill-dam (running 
between Joseph and his pursuers) impeded the way for a short time, 
the flying King might have been taken prisoner : while the English 
were overcoming this impediment, the Usurper mounted his horse 
and escaped. He went off without any incumbrance, having left 
not only his carriage, but all his personal treasure, including even 
his snuff-box. Such was the situation of the enemy, who, but a few 
hours before, had halted on the heights of La Puebla in fancied 
security ! 

The annals of Military History have never recorded a more 
splendid achievement. The Allies drove the French from all their 
positions, continued the pursuit till after it was dark, and took from 
them 151 pieces of cannon, 415 waggons of ammunition, and all 
their baggage, provisions, cattle, treasure, &c. They had not a single 
cannon left; and it appears, by letters from Spain, that their loss 
in killed, wounded, and prisoners, was nearly 30,000 men! 



34 



332 notes. '2 

Sjgr 



£>L 



7 

raittins: 



The Marquis of Wellington had the satisfaction of transmitting 
to the Prince Regent, Jourdan's Baton of a Marshal of France, 
taken in the glorious field of Vittoria, by the 87th Regiment; and 
it is highly gratifying to record that, in return for this present, 
His Royal Highness wrote a Letter to the noble Commander, in terms 
becoming the Prince of a favored nation, acknowledging his gratitude 
for the victory obtained, and presenting to the great General a Baton 
of Field Marshal of England. 



FIMIS. 



LONDON: 
Printed by w. hersee, white lion court, cornhill. 



